Page 56 of Lonely
I straightened the steering wheel when I felt his big, warm hand on my thigh.
He slid it higher, watching me in the darkness.
“I want to hear you say it.” His voice was quiet, charged with something unspoken.
An electric current ran up and down my arms, and I shivered.
“You kill because it makes you feel alive. Because for a few brief moments, you’re not alone. You’re powerful. Almighty.”
I chanced a look at him, but his eyes were already on me. “You’re God.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He cupped my dick, and I nearly swerved off the road.
I jerked the wheel just in time, steering the car back on track before we hit the ditch.
A trickle of sweat slid down my spine as I cleared my throat. “And in that moment, they’ll do anything for you. And you like it because you finally feel something, even when you don’t. Even when you’re so dead inside, you wonder if their screams, their fear, or their pleading eyes will finally be the thing that stirs something inside your empty shell.”
“Who got away?” he asked.
Who do I fantasize about killing?
Another car approached us, and I flipped off the high beams. “My mother.”
“Your mother,” he mused, squeezing me through my pants.
My cock swelled as I white-knuckled the steering wheel.
“Everything you do feels good,” I admitted. “You look at me, and it feels good.”
He ignored me. “Why your mother?”
I scoffed. “She’s a bitch, and she wants me to marry Esther.”
I felt his smile in the darkness.
Ifeltit.
Like a caress.
“Esther,” he repeated, trying it out. “She sounds like a boring fuck.”
I released a low, frustrated moan, wishing he’d suck me off like Anna did, as though I were his favorite popsicle.
“How do you fantasize about killing her? Your mother?”
“Suck my cock,” I demanded, ignoring his question as I struggled to keep my feet on the pedals. “Put me in your mouth.”
“Answer the question, and I’ll consider it.”
I wrung the wheel while he stroked me through my pants, pausing every now and then to squeeze the outline of my cock.
“I fantasize about strangling her with my belt,” I admitted. “Sometimes, I picture taking the knife off her when she chops an onion and stabbing her.”
“It’d feel good, wouldn’t it? To finally kill her?”
“You have no idea.”
He squeezed me then and I almost came in my pants.
