This can’t be Twyla. It can’t. But I want it so bad I don’t care that someone here knows my real name. I don’t care. I want the fantasy.
I know for a fact she’s not here—at camp, wearing a mask and a tight vinyl bodysuit, smelling like my exact brand of sin. And she absolutely isn’t in this pitch-black room, ass in the air, soft cunt begging to be pounded.
My system’s backfiring, wires crossed, fact and fantasy inhabiting the exact same space in my body. All I can do is wait, my crown wedged inside her in this painful limbo.
She doesn’t move. Another handful of seconds. Still nothing.
I don’t pull out. If anything, I nudge my tip in a little farther, tighten my hold.
I close my eyes and pretend, diving deeper into the dream world. Pure wish fulfillment.
Yeah. Yeah, that was her plump little hand cradling my balls just the way I needed, that sweet, tight pussy I plunged my finger into, her whimpering—fuck, that voice—it was so close to Twyla’s that it sent shivers up my spine. It sure felt just right when I sank my face between her legs and ate like a man finally allowed the one thing he’s always wanted.
“Zion… It’s me. It’s Twyla.”
I blink, stunned, mouth dry.It’s her?
I go hot and then cold, my eyeballs weird and tight as if my vision’s gone, which it probably has. Can’t tell in the dark.
My system’s glitching. I can’t loosen my grip on her hips or pull the head of my weeping cock from where it’s notched just inside her.
“No,” I whisper, keeping my hips still. Not sinking, not moving, when I want—need—to take her. “Twyla.” Her pussy’s non-negotiable at this point. I’m keeping it. It’s mine. All I want.Everything.I’d sell my soul to stay here.
Hell, maybe I already have. Maybe that’s why she’s appeared in the dark, brought here as if by the devil himself.
“Red,” she whispers. “Red. Please, Zion. Red.Red.”
I pull back, my reaction to the safe word automatic, though every part of me wants to hold on to her.
“You okay?” I force the words out, backing up a step to give her space. “What do you need?”
A zipper sounds in the dark, followed by a pained exclamation, scuffling. She moves toward me. “Open the door.” Her words send goose bumps up my back. “Please.”
My chest goes tight, a dullwhomp-whompstarts up in my temples, my skin tingles like it’s been flogged for an hour.
The fantasy haze starts to clear, leaving behind a terrible reality.
“What are you…” No. No, this just isn’t possible. “You shouldn’t be here.”
She scrabbles around at the wall beside me.
“Where is it? Where’s the door?” Her whispers pick up in volume. “I need to go. Let me out. Let me out, let me out. Oh, god.”
I’ve got no motor function, no control over anything.
Finally, my throat forces out a raw, “Twyla?” though my brain still hasn’t caught up with whatever the fuck’s happening here.
Her whispered, “I’m sorry,” settles low and hard in my belly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…” The door opens, washing her in the faintest red light as she hesitates for a split second—still just an amorphous shape—then slips out. I can’t move as her silhouette crosses quickly to the main door. It opens, letting in light that’s dazzling after the dark.
My head drops, my eyes squeeze shut. That weird thing in my skull gets louder, faster, making my eyes tight and my neck hurt.
When I look up again, she’s gone.
I feel nothing for maybe ten seconds. Then, just as suddenly as the surprise and numbness took me, I blink back to reality.
Get her back, my brain shouts.Get her, now.
My first step sends me barreling into Benji, who looks at me and says, “Put the mask on, man.”
