He reaches for the untouched drink in front of him, then takes a slow sip, never breaking eye contact. “Better?”
Irritated, I get back to work, checking things off the close list. Rogue comes out and gives a last-drink warning and tells me I can clock out, that she will finish up. Thank god. It has been a long-ass night, and all I want to do is go home, take a long shower, masturbate, and go to sleep. Finding a guy to hook up with is in the too-hard basket tonight; I really can’t be bothered with the awkwardness afterward and having to kick him out.
By the time I return from grabbing my bag, the guy is gone. That makes me feel better about walking home alone. Thoughit’s only a five-minute stroll, this is not exactly the safest part of town.
After saying goodbye to everyone, I head outside where the humidity has thankfully eased. I take my usual route, stopping by the 24/7 convenience store on the corner, which cashes in on the intoxicated people passing by. After grabbing some snacks and a bottle of water, I head to the cashier. There is a young guy already there, piling candy on the counter and rambling about needing a sugar rush.
The man serving him scans everything and puts it into a paper bag.
“I hate these stupid paper bags. Do you know how hard it would be to kill someone with a paper bag? It makes watching crime documentaries really boring—everyone loves a good suffocation by plastic bag,” the young guy mutters.
I snort; my issue is more about how easily they break. “I would like to see one about murdering someone with a recycled paper bag. Death via paper cuts.”
The guy turns around and smiles widely at me. “I would also love to see that. I wonder how many paper cuts would be needed to die.”
I shrug. “No idea, maybe it would be the torture part of death. A little alcohol poured over the cuts. I wonder if anyone has waterboarded anyone with alcohol before.”
The guy laughs at me. “Careful. Say things like that and someone might invite you to test it.”
“Are you offering or warning me? Because I don’t scare easily.”
“Paper-cut princess, fear isn’t about being scared.” A small smile curves his mouth. “It’s about what you enjoy before you realize you should’ve run and not involved yourself with monsters.” He winks, grabs his bag, then turns and walks out of the store.
Well, that was an interesting interaction and almost redeems the entire night. Now why can’t I meet people like that in the day and become their friend?
Vero
“Come, sit on my cock, and tell me what is going on in that head of yours. You have been distracted all fucking day and you’re making me dizzy.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice,” I say, pulling my boxers down my legs and making my way over to Brawley, who pulls back the sheet and shows me his thick, hard cock is waiting and ready. I grab the lube out of the bedside drawer and climb up onto the bed we share, straddling his waist as he takes the lube from my hand.
“So, what is going on in that crazy mind of yours?”
I don’t know if it’s normal to be so in love with someone that you want to crawl into their skin with them. My mom thinks I’m obsessed with him. I already know that is true—how could you not be?
He is all muscle and brawn, and he asks me things about what’s going on in my head. Most people don’t care—it’s a scary place. Most people would say I am this way because of how I was raised, yet my family is as normal as they come. My parents have been married for thirty-five years, and my grandparents are still together. One of my older brothers is a doctor, the otheran investment banker, while my younger sister is still in college. She is on her way to being a biomedical engineer. Then there is me. I work on Fear Island, dressing up as an asylum patient who occasionally chases women and fucks them. Hashtag life goals.
“It’s almost like a squirrel has gotten loose in my brain. I met a girl last night, the one Clay is stalking. Fuck, she is something else—brown hair, tattoos everywhere, on her neck, arms, really pretty ones. I wanted to ask about them, but I also didn’t want her to think I was weird—well, weirder than I already was at that point. Her eyes are this blue that is almost green, depending on how she moves. I couldn’t stop looking at them. And she has this energy, like she is completely unbothered by everything. Death via paper cuts makes her perfect. I haven’t been able to get her out of my head, so I have kept myself busy today. We know what happens when I get an idea.”
Brawley snorts and squirts lube onto his hand, then palms his cock. “Rewind to the paper-cuts thing.”
“Oh, right,” I say, then tell him about the entire interaction as I line myself up with his cock and slowly slide myself down his shaft.
“You know you can’t kill anyone just to test out that theory. Normal people would not appreciate being kidnapped and given a dead body as a gift.”
He knows me so well, and that’s why I love him, but I have been in a dilemma all day. The pretty girl wanted to know how many paper cuts it would take to kill a man, and my brain has been telling me I should find out for her.
Brawley thrusts up as he takes my face in his hands. “You don’t have anyone tied up anywhere, do you?”
I shake my head. “Not yet, but that’s what I was doing all day. First, I went on and hacked the database for pedophiles—what better person to be my test subject? I found someone local, but carting a body around in the daylight wouldn’t be easy, so I wentto the freak museum to talk to Banks. I asked if he could make me poison, but apparently that’s not what he does. But I still have no idea what he actually does, so I asked if he could make me a human skin voodoo doll of Clay just to fuck with him, and he also said no. Also, he tried to sell me some of his face cream. Did you know his magic ingredient is his own cum? Apparently it’s good for the skin. It could explain why my skin is so soft.”
Brawley pulls me down, so my face is inches from his. “If you put any other man’s cum on your face, I will kill him. I do not care if it is Banks—I have zero loyalty to him.”
“That is the sweetest thing you have ever said to me, but I don’t want his spunk on my face. He agreed to make me a life-sized wax figure of the woman I met last night. Though I think he only said it to get rid of me because he just got in a shipment of weird shit—there was an actual ear in a jar. I didn’t even know you could order things like that. Like, ‘Hi, can I order a human ear please.’”
“Can you ride my cock a little faster while you talk? Your ass feels so fucking good, but we have work to do tonight.”
“Do we have a job?”
