And more. Until each one comes a bit easier and the room around me flashes back into vision and I can see my bed, messy and scattered with papers, my door, shut, the carpet below my feet, soft and well-used and stained in a few spots.
I reach out and run my hand along the fibers to soothe myself as I listen to the sound of Static’s rhythmic breathing because for some reason, it’s the only thing that’s bringing me back.
“That’s a good boy. You’re doing so well. Just keep breathing. You’ve got this.”
He’s talking me through it so well, tears prick my eyes, and I nearly let them fall, but Ican’t,so I scrunch my eyes closed and let my head thud against the carpet with a dullthunk.
A deep breath, and then, on an exhale, “Don’t look so discouraged, little mouse.”
“How?” I croak into the floor, beyond masking my agony at this point. It’s obvious he can see me, but I need to know how.
“That’s the beauty, isn’t it? Wanting to know…needing to know…”
“Bastard!” I cry as I shoot into a sitting position. I scramble for my phone and slam my finger on the end button. Static’s unknown contact disappears, and I should probably be able to breathe a little easier at that, but I can’t.
Probably because I know he’s still watching me. Somehow. Someway…
Opening my eyes wide, I glance around the room, suddenly feeling more exposed than I ever have been. I eat in here, hang out in here, get… getdressedin here. I even… oh, God. I’ve even…
My face flushes at the memory of me touching myself the other night to the thought of none other than the man who’s literally stalking me.
What a nightmare come to life—literally.
And I don’t know what to do about it.
Static seems harmless enough… just someone who wants to play games. But I’m not sure I wanna play back.
And I don’t think he’s the kind that will take no for an answer.
Chapter Eighteen
This Sounds Serious
Cedrick
I’m nearly half an hour late to Mayhem, and everyone ispissed—not that I can blame them.
I’ve never been late before, and we’ve never had to delay opening, but I guess there’s a first for everything.
They’re all starin’ at me when I come into the dressing room. I drop my head as I walk toward my vanity and plop down in the seat to start on my makeup. At this point, I’ve got it down-pat, so it should only take me five minutes, give or take—which I make sure to say aloud to everyone who’s already ready and waiting… and staring at me with annoyance.
“Yes, I know. I’m fuckin’ sorry,” I mutter, my accent thicker than ever when I’m irritated. And as frustrated as I am with everyone being rude to me right now, I can’t regret my decision to do what I did to Madison.
He’s worth every bit of it.
I can still hear his voice in my head. His stutteringwhimpers and desperate pleas. His resolute determination and abject ignorance.
He’s absolutely perfect—and he never fails to keep on surprising me.
The way he passed out, eyes rolling into the back of his head, a bit of drool hanging from his thick, beautiful lips…
Fuck, he’s perfect…
I reach down and adjust my cock, but of course, as I do, Wesley notices and whistles loudly. Or, well, whistles as best he can through the fake teeth he’s wearing.
“Fuck off,” I mutter, rolling my eyes as I swipe the rest of the black paint around my eyes, smearing it a bit at the corners so it looks messier before painting my lips and doing the same.
My phone buzzes with a notification just as I finish up, so I toss my brush on the table to check it. It’s a motion alert for Madison’s room. I glance around the room for a second before opening it up to take a quick peak at my treat before I go out for the night.
