“Stop fucking talking.”
If he shuts up, I can pretend it’s someone else fucking me. Someone I don’t want to garrote with his own sock.
“Shut up and take it.”
Something about his unhinged bark at me pushes me over the edge. My muscles clench, my pussy explodes into a musical rainbow as choruses of angels sing me through my release.
Fuck. I grit my teeth. I’m not going to let him know what he does to me.
He chuckles. “So fucking stubborn.” He grunts, nutting into me, his cock swelling, pressing against my constricting inner walls. When he stills, we’re both gasping for breath. My legs are trembling so hard that if I wasn’t kneeling on the bed, I’d have fallen on my ass, or face. My arms are struggling to hold my weight, threatening to buckle under the exertion.
I wait for the relief to hit, the indifference, the hate-fire to get put out by his cum as though that’s the magic fire suppressant I’ve been waiting for. But, as he softens inside me, no emotional relief comes. The hate is still there, and it’s being bigged-up by a crippling dose of self-loathing.
What the fuck did I just do?
I don’t have long to mull, he pulls out of me, and there’s a snap of latex as he ties off the condom and shuffles to the trashcan to my right. “What’s this?”
Oh, no.
From the small table next to the door, he picks up the white, nondescript cardboard cylinder I mailed to him and looks at it. He turns it over in his hand.
“I need to get out of here.” I stand up, pull my pants up, and turn wordlessly toward the door.
“Wait.”
I pause.
“Is this from you? The handwriting looks the same as your note the other day.”
I shake my head and make a beeline for the door, but he beats me to it, blocking my exit.
“Wait up, hell spawn. Let’s open this together.”
No, no. Let’s not. Let’s definitely not.
Something on my face must give it away. I know the contents of the tube, and now he won’t let me go, or back down.
I meet his eyes. “Don’t.”
“I think I will.” He slides his nails under the cap.
I shake my head, hissing out a breath as my eyes flutter closed. “I hate you.”
“What’s the matter, Pitstop? What’s in the tube?”
I don’t answer, instead I purse my lips and flare my nostrils. Meeting his curious gaze with a steady stare of my own.
“Alright.” He winks. “We go down together.”
I shriek as his fingers twitch, and throw up my hands to cover my face even though I know it’s a fruitless endeavor.
“Confetti cannon?” He shakes it. “Glitter dicks?”
I say nothing.
“Fine. Let’s figure this out the hard way.” He yanks open the tube, and the glitter bomb explodes with a pop and a blinding flash of tiny pieces of glitter.
There’s no escaping it.
