Motherfucker.
Chapter Seventeen
So Many Faces
Over the last several days, I’ve dealt with a dead car battery, had the shit scared out of me by a mouse in my apartment, had my garbage bag rip at the bottom when I went to take it out, dumping trash everywhere that I had to clean up and now, I just stubbed my fucking toe on my metal bedframe support. I writhe back and forth on my bedroom floor, cursing at the ceiling. “God damnit!”
I don’t know why I’m having such a string of bad luck, but fuck, I wish it would end. And the cherry on top, Mastyx, is coming tonight, and I’m not physically or mentally prepared for his arrival.
On a positive note, I finished making the ram’s head death art, and it turned out fucking fantastic. The ram’s head alone sells for over five hundred dollars online, so I price the piece at five hundred and ninety-nine dollars, which will give me a profit of around four hundred dollars after supplies.
There’s a soft knock on the door, and when I open it, a box sits on the floor in the hall, and I catch the back side of a delivery driver jogging down the steps. I pick up the box and grimace,What the hell did I order?
I set the box on the coffee table, peel off the tape and open it. Inside, buried beneath a mound of Styrofoam circus peanuts, is the white death mask.
Wow, it came fast. I carry it into my room, set it on my bed and head to the kitchen to search for hanging hardware. Once I find the kit my dad bought me, I set it on the bed next to the mask. I run my fingers over the slightly textured surface of the mask, pick it up, stand in front of my full-length mirror and put it on my face.
So cool. I hold it in both hands before my legs, facing the mirror. “Oh, Tessa, do you really think he’ll wear it?” I say aloud. I picture him wearing the mask while carrying me in his arms around hell, protecting me from the flaming hot ground beneath me.
I hold the mask in one hand and slap the side of my head with the other. “Stop it. Stop thinking such crazy things.” I toss the mask on the bed, scoop up the hammer, tap a hanging hook into the wall by my bed and hang the mask.
The gray walls provide a perfect background for it. I adjust it slightly to the right so it’s completely level. It seems as if this wall was made just for this mask. The spacing, size, and placement all come together perfectly, showcasing it like a piece of art in a museum.
I glance at the wall clock. It’s nearly seven. The weather is changing, but not by much. The nights get a little chilly, but it’s tolerable. I mean, it is only the beginning of October. I close my eyes and try to think about what to do about tonight. What would surprise me the most if I were a guy or a demon?
My fingers ache from rubbing them together constantly, my nervous energy getting the best of me. I pace the living room floor, trying to figure out how to make our experience less traumatizing. There has to be something, some way to keep him from hurting me so bad, even if it isn’t intentional.
How do I stop myself from thinking and dwelling on how much pain he’s about to cause? If I could convince him to be gentle, not so vicious, not so animalistic, this might work. It’s a big ask, I know, considering what he is. It’s like telling a predator not to hunt its prey. I drag my palms over my face and sigh.
Be ready for him. I throw my hands in the air. That’s all I can think of. I’m just going to get cleaned up, lather on a bunch of lotion and lie on top of my comforter naked with my legs spread. I don’t know what else could be more appealing than that. When I started stripping in front of him last time, he hesitated, didn’t just attack. He wanted to take it all in and enjoy what he was seeing. Can’t hurt, I guess.
After taking a long, hot bath and shaving every piece of hair I could see on my body from the waist down, I rub a sweet cherry-scented lotion all over my limbs and climb into bed, exhaustion pulling me into a restless sleep.
???
Scratchy hands slide up my thighs, waking me from a deep slumber. I gasp as Mastyx tugs my legs gently apart, his face partially covered in skin with fire peeking from the patches in between that stick to his head like skin grafts that shift around when his jaw moves.
Once again, I can see hints of the man from the fair, his flesh breaking down like the cracked earth in a desert landscape, brittle and thirsty.
I swallow hard, trying to keep my thoughts and fears hidden deep inside. His appearance is unsettling, making my abdomen tremor unintentionally. I rest my hand on my midsection, steadying it as his flaming eyes drift to the mask hanging beside my bed and then back to me.
“I…I bought that for you, for when you don’t have a face but want one.” My voice comes out barely above a whisper, and Ican’t hide the shakiness in my words. It’s not technically a lie. It appears faces are hard to come by since he’s reusing an old one that seems to be falling apart.
I grip the sheets beneath me, curling them tightly into my palm, making my fingers ache.
“Close your eyes, Little Sinner,” he growls.
I pinch my eyes closed, my pulse throbbing in my neck, doing as he asks, and a hot breath drifts between my legs, making my pussy lips twitch. His hands curl around my legs and without warning, his tongue plunges deep inside me, making me gasp. I scoot back on the bed, my head striking the headboard.
He grips my thighs and yanks me back to him, holding me tight. I rock into him, the sensation too euphoric to ignore. Sucking noises emanate from between my legs as he nibbles and licks every inch of my pussy, inside and out. I feel the tingle; it’s racing down my inner thighs. Without thinking, I reach for him, my hands moving toward his head on their own.
My wrists burn as he grips them tightly, slamming them back down into the mattress, forcing his tongue harder between my legs. I lift my hips toward his face, longing for the heat emanating from his fiery lips.
As if he senses my desire, he releases my wrists, spreads my pussy lips wider with his fingers and takes my clit into his mouth, forcing his tongue so far into me, I thought it may pop out of my chest. His tongue slides out of me before he wraps his lips around my clit and sucks hard, really hard, drawing my orgasm out of my body like a syphon. I cry out, filling his mouth with my juices as he moans.
He lifts his head, his eyes partially closed and filled with desire, locking on mine. “My Little Sinner, you taste like a thousand souls entering my mouth at once.”
I close my eyes, panting heavily as a single tear escapes my lid. What is wrong with me? How could I have enjoyed thatso much? A part of me feels shame, but the other part of me embraces his tongue with open arms as he swirls it around my now sensitive clit. I want him to do it again; the overwhelming feeling of release intoxicates me, clouding my judgment.
