I push back to meet his thrusts, my eyes fluttering closed. “Yes, yes. Fuck. Yes.”
But the hands on my body—they’re not just Adrian’s anymore. They’re cold, rough, scratching at my skin like claws. I try to pull away and escape the sudden onslaught of sensation, but Adrian’s grip on my hips is too tight.
“Going to fuck you until your hole is gaping. Then I’m going to show it to them. Let them spit inside it.”
I’m panting, my dick throbbing and leaking. My eyes open, and that’s when I see it—the thing from the mirrors, standing at the back of the room. It isn’t just a shadow this time. It’s solid, real, its eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my blood run cold.
My heart stutters, but I can’t look away. “What the fuck—”
Adrian wraps his hand around my cock, stroking me in time with his thrusts, cutting off my words. “Fuck into my hand. Do it. Show them how desperate you are. What a whore you are.”
A sob escapes me, muffled behind the mask, but the sound is there, humiliating and raw. I’m a fucking mess, panting andwhimpering as I do what he wants. The figure is still there, still watching, like it’s peeling away the last layers of whatever I have left—my pride, my dignity, my fucking soul.
“You’re going to come for me. Right here, in front of them. You’re going to come like the broken little whore you are.”
“Adrian . . . Adrian.” My eyes grow wet as the pressure builds inside me, a deep throbbing ache that starts in my balls, then spreads outward, consuming every inch of my body. Adrian rubs his thumb over my slit and I clench around his cock.
I scream, the sound raw and primal, echoing through the room as the pressure releases. It isn’t like any orgasm I’ve ever had before. It’s deeper, more internal, like something is being ripped out of me.
A wave of fluid gushes out, hot and wet, splattering onto the platform beneath me. It isn’t cum—it’s something else. The relief that follows is overwhelming, but it’s wrong, so wrong.
Did I just piss myself? My face burns and I close my eyes, trying to forget about the audience.
But Adrian isn’t done. He keeps fucking me, becoming more brutal. He shoves his fingers in my mouth, forcing me to suck them, to gag on them, to taste whatever came out of my body.
The tears finally fall, and when I open my eyes, the only peace I have is the figure is gone. But the audience is still there, still watching with a detached indifference that makes my skin crawl.
“That’s it, Jasper. This hole was made for me. Fuck, Jasper. Take it.” Adrian slams deep one last time, grunting as he releases. Then he pulls out slowly, kissing the back of my neck like he’s comforting me after ripping me apart.
My legs give out and I collapse to the floor, trembling, spent, a sob catching in my throat. My skull mask digs into my skin, suffocating me, choking me, but I don’t have the strength to remove it.
Not yet.
Adrian helps me to my feet, his arm wrapped around my waist, supporting me as I sway unsteadily. “You’ll understand soon.”
I don’t want to fucking understand. I just want to be me again—whoever the fuck that was. But he’s gone.
Lost.
Shattered into a thousand pieces.
And I don’t know if I’ll ever get him back.
Chapter 12
The hot water burns my skin as I stand under the shower, my hands braced against the tiled wall, head hanging low. I should turn the heat down, but the sting is the only thing keeping me tethered. I’ve scrubbed myself raw, trying to wash off the filth layered in my brain, but it’s no use.
It isn’t just on me, it’s inside too.
The house. Adrian. The fucking thing in the mirrors.
I slam my fist into the wall, teeth gritted. Fuck. This isn’t what I wanted. None of this is what I wanted. I came here for . . . for excitement, sure. For something new, something real.
Not to be used. Not to be fucking destroyed.
My skin is red, but it isn’t enough. The fear, the shame—it’s all still there, clinging to me like the steam that fills the room.
I’m fucking done.
