Page 70 of Damsel in Disguise

Once satisfied with the faint stain, I straighten back up and smirk at the artwork. When he wakes up, he should know whatever happened wasn’t just a wet dream but something untraceably real.

Then I lick my lips clean with my tongue, tasting the strawberry flavor of the lip tint, salt, and something darker that lingers beneath.

Slowly, I rise to my feet and fix my gloves, sealing everything away.

Before I leave, I fix the blanket over his body one last time, making sure he looks undisturbed.

Then I turn towards the window.

The height isn’t bad. It’s manageable. There’s a platform below—something to break the fall and safely split the jump in two.

If I can get used to it tonight, then the next time—and there will be a million more times—I won’t need to deal with open windows, locked doors, or anyone standing in my way.

I’ll come straight to him through his bedroom windows.

With that decision settling in my mind, I slide the windows open and jump out in the darkness.

24. EVERY-NIGHT

alistair

That night wasn’t the last time Ariella came to me. It was the beginning.

She visits me every night.

She stays hidden behind the curtains, watching me pound into my so-called wife. Fucking her into oblivion beneath me.

She stays silent, patiently learning, and waits until I’m done.

Once I am—when my body is spent, and my mind slips into that heavy, bone-deep exhaustion—she comes out alive.

She emerges only when she’s certain I’m gone to the world of unconsciousness.

But I don’t.

My body pretends to drop into slumber like a dead man after fucking under an audience.

Any other man would. However, I stay alert to feel her crawling out of the shadows and inside the blanket to clean Delilah off me off. Unlike the very first night, when I unexpectedly fell asleep.

The first touch is always tentative and curious. The faintest brush of her lips or breath, or something warm and inviting against my skin.

My body registers it before my mind does by responding slowly. All she does is lick me—slow, testing strokes that drag sensation out of me inch by inch.

Sometimes she takes a little more. A hesitant suck. A soft, almost shy pressure. Just like a little kitty.

I let her believe I’m going through another filthy, recurring hallucination where I come undone at the mercy of something I never quite see.

And each time it takes everything in me not to tangle my fingers in her hair, drag her forward, and put that wicked mouth to a proper use. To feel that careful curiosity break into something desperate while I ruin it for good.

Instead, I let her believe she’s the one in charge.

Every morning, I wake up to Ariella leaving her signature lip print exactly on the same side of my chest. I never wash it off completely. I keep its originality so that she can kiss it again.

Delilah doesn’t say anything about it, though I know she has noticed once or twice by now.

Tonight marks the fifth night.

Fifth night of fucking my cyborg wife just so Ariella can crawl out from the dark and clean her off me.