“You have ten minutes to make me come,” he explains coldly. “If you fail, then you can stay the night inside with your fucking ghosts.”
I can only gape at him, at a complete loss for what to even think. “Wha— H-how?” I stammer.
He reaches inside the pocket of his joggers and slips out his phone. My heart picks up speed as he opens the stopwatch app and sets the time to ten minutes.
“I’ll let you decide,” he says, setting the device on the edge of the brick chamber, butted up against the interior wall.
I’m unable to tear my eyes away from the screen, his finger poised over the red start button. My heart hammers inside my chest, and panic scrambles all coherent thought into a pile of mush. It takes several seconds before I’m able to force myself to focus.
I’m terrified to argue, scared anything I say will have him either reducing my time or starting it before I’m prepared.
It’s no use negotiating with him. While I’m tempted to kick him in the dick and make a run for it, I’m terrified of what he’ll do if he catches me. The odds of that happening are uncomfortably high, especially when three of my steps amount to one of his.
In conclusion, I’m fucked.
I either give myself up to him or spend the night trapped inside a fucking oven.
The same feelings from the night in the locker room arise. If he wants me to cry and beg him not to fuck me, I won’t give him the satisfaction. Deep down, a sick, twisted part of me craves this, too.
It feels better than when he makes me cry.
“You went through all this trouble because you want to fuck me again? You could’ve accomplished the same goal in your bed.”
He cocks his head, peering at me like I’m a silly little girl. “I think my dorm recognizes your screams well enough to know if they need to call the cops, darling.”
My cheeks burn hot as I glare at him.
Asshole.
I glance to the side of him toward the exit, contemplating if my life is worth kicking him in the dick at least one time. It might just be satisfying enough that I’ll happily accept my death.
“Even if you got incredibly lucky and got away, you can’t run forever,” he drawls lazily, though it still sounds sinister. “Andwhatever you think will happen when I catch you—it’ll be so much worse.”
That sends a cold chill down my spine.
Working to swallow, I shuffle closer to the edge of the chamber and spread my legs on either side of him, letting them dangle over the edge. Sex or a blow job are my only options, and although I seemed to do well enough a couple of days ago, I’m not as confident on my knees as I am on my back.
His stare burns into me, hotter than the flames he threatens me with. I hesitate for a second longer and then meet his eyes, nearly choking on my tongue when I do.
Jesus, he’s fucking intense.
Even with ink black strands falling over his eyes, the flames crackling within singeing the tiny hairs on my body, merely an appetizer to my impending fate.
“Fine,” I say, my voice hushed and resigned.
Before I think about what I’m doing any deeper than necessary, I shrug off my coat and toss it past him. Then, I pull my arms through each sleeve of my T-shirt and tug it over my head before throwing it on top of my coat. Cool air coerces my exposed nipples into hard peaks, drawing his stare to them.
Next, I toe off each boot, leaving me barefoot, since the shithead didn't bother with putting socks on me. I'm surprised he even bothered with my boots.
Then, I rock side to side as I quickly pull my sweatpants and underwear down past my ass, trying not to cringe as I do. The brick warms my bare skin, but all I can focus on is the fine layer of ash coating the surface.
Thousands of bodies have been cremated in this retort, and this deranged psycho is about to fuck me on top of what remains of them.
This is so completely, undeniably fucked, and I’m definitely going to hell.
I slip the pants down my legs, ensuring to lean back on my tailbone and keep my lower half angled so the ash doesn’t touch any sensitive internal areas.
I would quite literally rather die than allow human remains inside my fucking vagina.
