Masked men
Oral fixation
Butt play
I’m curious to find out what else I might be into. I liked how rough that guy was in the video. But would I actually dig it or is it just a fantasy? Like being tied up or spanked or forced to swallow a dick.
I turn back some pages until I find the awful drawing I made of the man in the white mask. One night, I couldn’t resist the urge to put him on paper after waking up from one of my hot dreams. I did get quite a few details, perhaps too many to be just a figment of my imagination? I close the diary a bit too forcefully and toss it at the foot of the bed while I let myself fall back on the pillow.
What is this scent? I lift the T-shirt fabric toward my nose, and a strong, musky smell fills my nostrils once again. It’s damn good. Did someone mix their clothes with mine in the laundry room again? This is not my detergent fragrance. It’s familiar but not. It feels like my body recognizes it, but my mind can’t link a person to it.
I inhale deeply, topping up my lungs before letting the fabric go, and then I look down at my sticky belly and dirty sheets. I’d better wash before people start moving around.
I leave the bed and grab the towel on the floor with the plug hidden inside, then take the toiletries bag and the blue shower towel from the hook behind the door before opening it. I stick my head into the hallway. The lights are dimmed, and everything is silent. The T-shirt I’m wearing reaches my knees, and the bathroom is two doors down on the left, which allows me to walk there without wearing anything else.
I quickly slide inside one of the shower stalls and pull the curtain shut. The water is always cold at first, but after a few seconds it turns warm. I wash the butt plug first. As I start lathering my body with soap, my mind wanders. I suddenly feel kind of pathetic and lonely. Shouldn’t I share these kinds of experiences with a partner or a friend?
Brad must be sleeping; Stanford is two hours earlier. I should just tear off the s-Aid and do it with someone. No string attached. Same as when I climaxed, one face comes quickly to the front of my mind. Ezra’s.
“I even moaned his name!” I grab my head, letting soap get in my left eye. Damn, it burns! While I move my face under the stream of water, Ezra is still filling my thoughts. The way he held me close against his body, his strong hands on my hips. Those sexy lips an inch from mine.
My ass clenches around nothing. I put my hand on the wall and huff. There’s no point in daydreaming about a guy who’ll never be attracted to me. That’s for ordinary people.
I look at the soapy water flowing quickly into the shower drain. A damaged mind, can it really dare to dream? A damaged soul, can it really live waiting for fear to dominate it? A damaged heart, can it have an unmarred place left for love?
four
EZRA
Midnight is the perfect hour. I can move almost undetected among the gloomy campus streets. A guy is hurrying down the sidewalk holding thick books close to his chest, and two drunk girls are swaying and stumbling while laughing obnoxiously.
I push the black hood more firmly over my head and keep walking. I know where all the cameras are, so it’s not difficult to bypass them. I’ve been avoiding any kind of electronic device since I faked my death more than a year ago after I discovered Nine was still alive and out there looking for revenge.
A sudden scream makes me slide my hand under the hoodie to grab one of the knives tied to my back. I don’t unsheathe it, though, when my eyes fall on the two girls now giggling as they approach me on unsteady feet. I don’t let go of the knife as I wait for them to reach me. One of them is wearing furry cat ears on her head, while the taller one has smeared purple lipstick over her cheek and chin.
“Well, hello, masked stranger!” the cat woman slurs, staring at my face. She doesn’t seem scared by my odd appearance—university students. Her hand falls on my arm. “Is there a carnival around? Where? Me and my-my friend are looking for more fun! Whoo-hoo.”
She is too loud for my taste.
“ThatPhantom of the Operamask is doing it for me,” the taller one whispers sultrily. “Want to come and hook up with…bothof us?” Drunk but still able to flirt.
The other woman agrees with her friend after giving my body a slow, dirty once-over. I know that hungry look, have seen it in most of the people I’ve fucked. It’d be easy to follow them to their place, have sloppy blowjobs and two eager holes to nail. It’d definitely be pleasurable. But they aren’t who I’ve been craving for the last eight months. They are just…bodies in my way. I’m here to get my daily dose of my little chick. And I need it now. I grit my teeth, knowing only seeing him will release the pressure I feel against my skull.
I let go of the knife handle and remove the green-polished nails from my arm.
“No,” I growl, before resuming my walk and leaving them behind. I hear them making a disappointed noise—not for long, though. A couple of seconds later, they start talking to another guy on the other side of the street.
My burner phone vibrates in my pocket. I take it out and answer Uriel’s call.
“Where are you?” My twin brother’s voice enters my ear. We’ve been estranged most of our lives—forced to, at least for the first part. In the past few months, we’ve been working together tofind our common enemy, but that doesn’t mean we trust each other or act buddy-buddy.
“Where areyou?” I flip the question.
“You already know,” he deadpans.
He’s right, I do. He’s at a charity event with Sariel, Michael, and Raphael—the sound of useless chatter and clinking glasses in the background confirms it. Neither Raphael nor Uriel gives a fuck about philanthropic causes, unless using those fundraisers to seek above-the-law evildoers to torture and kill is seen as a humanitarian act—cleansing the world and all that shit. Both things I’m not into.
“Found anyone interesting yet?”
