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23

GHOST

F uck! I can smell her.

She always did smell different when she was frightened, and she doesn’t run. No, my beautiful Delilah stands fixed in place, goosebumps dotted up the back of her pretty legs as they tremble, and her spine is ramrod straight.

A trill tone breaks up my examination as I watch her, soak in her fear, and she snaps her head to the side. My dick is harder at the sight of her wide eyes. So fucking huge, like marbles I want to collect just sitting in her pretty little head.

I used to do that, before…Before her.

Collect things, examine them. Enjoy them.

Not now. Not after her, Delilah. She’s taken all the innocent enjoyment away from me and replaced it with this deep need for depravity. Only wherever she’s concerned though. With anyone else I don’t give a fuck. Not koukla mou. Nothing else exists apart from her.

But she does something utterly ridiculous and attempts to run as she screams into her phone, “Pick up, please pick up.”

There’s barely any exertion required from me, and I take two large strides to cut her off before she can reach the door that she naively thinks is her escape. We’re finally alone and she’s so lost in her fear that it only hinders her ability to escape as I wrap my arm around her waist to pull her into me. In her struggle, her ass rubs against my dick, trapping a groan in my chest, and she throws her limbs back to hit me.

I laugh at that. The mask makes it echo around my ears under the helmet portion of it until I see the name on her phone screen. She didn’t try to call the police. No, she called her fucking husband. I’m the one that’s with her but she called him. It’s always fucking him that she chooses.

The line continues ringing as anger distorts time and I grab her wrist to get the cunt away from her since she’s incapable of doing it herself. She whimpers and kicks into my shin as she bends her arm back and tries to push me away.

“Get the fuck off me,” she seethes, still fighting. Always fighting.

I end the call and my fingers tighten around her wrist as the screen darkens along with my tone. “You let him fuck your throat, koukla mou. Now I have to make it mine again.”

Her fingers wrap around the respirator over my mouth and the straps running under the helmet are tugged against my hair as she shouts, “You’re not real!”

I laugh again. She’s so crazy it’s a turn on, and I push my hips forward so she can feel every part of me. Every part of what she does to me.

“I am real,” I say evenly. “Don’t you remember signing your life over to me?”

She has to remember. It can’t have escaped her in the bullshit life she’s created because then it means that the only thing that was false were Delilah’s feelings towards me . If that’s true, then she can’t be allowed an easy punishment for toying with me, for taking my life and making it hers only to send me away and be left a ghost of my former self.

Her head flies back, knocking into my jaw as she curses. “Fuck you. You’re just some freak my mind made up.”

Her phone flashes with that cunt’s name on the screen and I smile as I ask, “If I’m not real, could I do this?”

Answering before it can go to voicemail, I fight the tension in her arm to bring it closer to her face as her husband’s deep, sleep-filled voice comes through.

“Lilo, baby, it’s late. How come you called?”

There’s so much false care in it. Sickening. Her fingers lose pressure against the mask, and she stares at the screen. Her heart thuds against my chest and I want nothing more than to push my hand between her ribs and hold it, and to finally have an equal hold on her like she does to me.

But she shakily brings her hand down from my face and her fingers tremble as she slaps against the screen to end the call. The cold beep adds a new stillness to the room, and I let go of her wrist. She’s choosing me over him. There’s no bullshit excuse of some complication like she used to have. She is finally putting me above that prick, Asher.

Her arms hang limply at her sides as I feel her against me fully. Fuck, it’s been so long, and the mask stops me from being able to rest my lips against her crown in the way I crave. It was always the best place to fall asleep and have her true smell lull me into comfort without any pollutants from her life. My hands roam her sides and my eyes close as I drop my head to the top of her hair. My lips don’t touch but the respirator isn’t attached to anything, and it allows the scent of her through as I push my hips against her ass.

That beautiful ass.

Fuck. The memory of the first time she let me fuck her ass is one that has kept me company while she fucked off with that prick. The way she screamed and begged, so fucking sweet and vicious and mine.

“I love my husband,” she whispers to herself, stoking my anger to a fever pitch.

“But you love dick more,” I fire back softly.

She turns her head in an attempt to look at me, but I line my face up with hers. The respirator brushes her shoulder and I want her to hear my voice without it.

“You always have, haven’t you?” I ask.

We both know the answer. It’s yes. She can claim to love a person, but Delilah always needs more, like a succubus. She craves the souls of those who have been sucked into her orbit and have successfully been infected with the obsession of her. She will never be fully satisfied with anyone because that hole can’t be filled. It’s not physical and it doesn’t matter how many dicks she shoves inside of herself, it will always be empty and hollow.

Yet, I crave her just as deeply. The hollowness in me calls her name and whispers its promises of leaving if I feed her to it.

She flinches as her phone begins buzzing again. I’m two seconds away from pushing it inside her so her fucking husband has a use when she declines it and continues staring straight ahead. Her lips barely move as she repeats, “I love him, and he knows me. He’s real.”

Fuck him. It’s always fucking him on her lips when I’m the one with her. I’m the one who gives her everything she needs. When he was busy and needed to work because money and connections were so important, it was me there. Not him.

When he made her feel like shit for the things she likes, it was me who explored them with her. It has always been me through the neglect, the arguments, the times she felt like she was drowning under the weight of his expectations—me. That’s what she’s forgetting.

Her phone continues ringing and she doesn’t decline, she allows it to ring and the vibrations are deafening in my rage.

Stroking across her stomach to her hip, I say, “I know all of your secrets, whether you remember them or not.”

I finally have her attention. Fucking finally. And her cheek skims the edge of the sooty respirator, black streaks staining her skin as she tries to look through the filthy, darkened lenses to see me. She’s not ready yet, and she doesn’t deserve to have all of me again.

I push my hand under her t-shirt to feel her soft skin through the latex gloves. My fingers flex as she tenses her muscles and squeezes her legs together. My little fucking tease thinks I don’t know her body when I studied it, worshipped it, and made her my religion. She was the sun that began my day and the stars that ended it. There’s nothing she can hide from me. Her hips twist ever so slightly, and that potent mix of fear and lust is all that fills the air as I slowly spill her secrets.

“I know how you would sneak into his brother’s bed”—I trail my fingers on her thighs and wait for them to open—“and it started with you being a bad girl.”

She gasps and splutters as she lies to herself, “No, it’s not real.”

Bullshit. Her legs open and she tilts her hips forward, wanting me, needing me.

My voice is filled with gravel, deeper and raspier with the mask distorting it. “You were a very bad girl and you wanted them both.” I slap my fingers directly over her dripping cunt as I repeat, “A very bad girl.” Another slap. “So fucking greedy.” She moans and I slap again, harder this time.

Every wrong thing she has done was confessed to me and the latex stops me feeling just how soaked she is as I slip my middle finger between her lips.

“You’re never satisfied with one of anything, koukla mou.”

Delilah shakes her head and widens her thighs as she rolls her hips to get my finger on her needy clit. Her voice trembles as she says, “It’s not true.”

It forces me to pull out her other secrets and a groan deepens my voice further as I push my middle finger inside of her.

“The first time you put your pretty little fingers in your delicious cunt, you were scared.”

She shakes her head.

“You were scared,” I repeat, my tone hardening, “of getting caught.”

Her hips roll and she cuts off her own air to stop from moaning. I mimic the movements she once showed me as I slowly pull my finger out and hesitantly trace every delectable inch of her soaked slit.

But she shakes her head and lies to herself again. “My mind already knows those things. It’s not real.”

I’m getting sick of hearing that bullshit over and over and fucking over again. It forces me to continue giving her details as I softly trail the fingers of my free hand over her stomach.

“Your sister was sleeping in the same room at your grandparents’ house?—”

“Shut. Up,” she grits, squirming under my touch.

I keep moving up her body with my free hand as I brush her clit with the tip of my finger.

“And you put your hand over your mouth.”

“No.”

I copy the first time she touched herself and push my hand up through the neck of her t-shirt to cover her lies. Her cheeks dent from the force of my fingers but she doesn’t try to bite me. She knows now and we can continue without her need to be a liar.

Flattening my hand between her legs, I continue and purposefully slow each word.

“Then you did this”—I increase the pressure and press the heel of my palm to her clit—“and you were so scared you were going to get caught, but you couldn’t stop.”

She shakes her head and pushes her hips down as a soft, delicate moan vibrates into my palm.

“It felt so good, so exciting and new, to finally touch yourself. But it wasn’t enough. You need more, don’t you, koukla mou?”

The change in tense isn’t accidental, we both know she fucking needs me. She needs to be fucked, to be filled, and to be stretched to the point that she breaks. Until she’s nothing but a soaking wet, drooling mess.

There’s no movement as I slowly push my two middle fingers up and her legs shake as she resists the urge to ride my hand.

“So, you put one pretty little finger inside and felt how warm and comforting you can be.”

Her eyes close.

“It felt so good to have something inside of you, and that excitement of knowing you could get caught at any moment was too much,” I say. My voice is deeper, breathing ragged as her cunt takes a third finger. “A moan slipped out.”

She does the same now and I push my palm into her mouth.

“But you wanted to scream.”

Her eyes snap open, with jewel-like tears making them shine, and they slip over the edge of her lower lashes, calling for my tongue. She’s even more beautiful when she cries and more black, sooty streaks are added to her face as I rub my cheek against her temple.

I remove my hand from her mouth so I can hear every sound unrestricted. Cupping her jaw, I watch the contrast of the black latex glove holding her in place—it’s like a shadow—and she arches her back as I scissor my fingers.

Her breathing shallows as she whispers, “I’ve never told anyone that before.”

I smile under the mask and reward her for her admission as I slip my hand to her throat and squeeze. Her air is under my control, and I push my fingers up, making her stand on her toes. The buzzing restarts and we both look down to “Asher” on the fucking screen.

Bringing her attention back to me, I coo, “I know, koukla mou.” I curl my fingers up to stroke that textured spot that will make her explode. “Before me, no one else knew.”

Her phone stops ringing, only to restart again.

“But I do, I know you. I know what makes you feel good. How when I twist my fingers like this”—I press two fingers to her G-spot—“you leak like a fucking hose.”

She shakes her fucking head and looks at her phone. I’m three fingers deep physically, and so much more mentally, but she still fucking looks towards him.

“He’s going to think you’re crazy again,” I sing-song before rage takes over my vocal cords. “Answer the fucking phone. It’ll be like old times.”

Another shake of her head that knocks more of those divine tears loose. My mouth waters and I hate the mask for stopping me from tasting them. Such a magnificent little doll.

“I-I’ll te—tell him,” she stutters, “that you’re here.”

It ends on a moan as I increase the pace of my fingers and I easily accept.

“Good, I never liked the smug prick. Give me an excuse to kill him, like you killed his brother.”

The flush that was staining her cheeks from me building her up disappears and she glows from how pale she becomes.

“I didn’t.”

Does she think I give a fuck about that one sin when she’s committed much worse? Taking a life isn’t the most sinister thing on Delilah’s list, it was just the start of her descent into deviancy.

“He lies to you,” I say. “I don’t.”

The phone finally stops fucking ringing, and no other call comes through. The messages start and she slowly turns her hand to read the screen.

ASHER:

Why aren’t you answering

I’m coming home baby

I have to let go of her neck to click on his name and it doesn’t even trill because he answers so quickly, the pathetic cunt. He’s so fucking wrapped up in her and willing to drop everything in his life to cater to her when that’s not what she needs. She doesn’t need care or micromanaging to ease her mind, she needs to be matched and forced to give over control, so she knows that the care is real and it was fought for. It’s all she’s ever needed but I made the same mistake of automatically giving her that care she craves because I didn’t understand her at the time. Now I do, and I won’t allow her to escape me a second time.

There’s no sound on the other end of the line and I hold her wrist as I push my face closer to hers and whisper, “Tell him you love him while you ride my hand.”

Her hair gets caught in the respirator and she lies to her husband as she cups the back of my hand to stop me from leaving her.

“I’m sorry. I called you by mistake, in my sleep.”

Her body tenses and she pushes her head back as I move my fingers in a wave. There’s no beep as the phone screen turns black and she tightens her hold around it. The edges turn white from the force and then it flashes, showing it needs to be charged.

Without the chance of her husband interrupting us again, she grinds her hips down and continues her lies.

“You’re not real.”

“If I’m not real,” I say, “why are you scared?”

Her pulse is wild at the side of her neck, and I need to feel it. Wrapping my hand around her throat, I press my thumb against the erratic beat. We both groan and I alternate the pressure as she rides my fingers.

“Fuck!” she shouts, and her head falls back.

“If I’m not real, who’s making you come?”

She shakes in my hold, and I look down her body to see the way she’s soaking my hand, the black latex glove shining in the low light, and I fully cut off her air as I ask one final question.

“If I’m not real, why do you want me to be?”

Her mouth opens on a scream, but I tighten my hold, keeping it trapped in her throat, so it only comes out as a hoarse cry. More tears run down her cheeks and over her plush lips as she pushes back against me, dropping her phone.

I speed up and fuck her harder, needing a puddle and for there to be a stain on the floor she fucked her husband on. To literally wash it away. Banding my arm around her waist, I lift her off her feet, so she’s at my mercy and I can abuse her neglected clit. There’s no care or soft touches. I make rapid circles with my thumb while fucking her harder, and my forearm burns from how much I’m working the muscle to get what I need. I pull her down on my fingers as I curl them inside her and the helpful little whore rolls her hips. Even with the restricted position, she finds a way to take control.

That’s not something she’s allowed with me until she confesses, so I keep her weight balanced with my hand between her thighs and cross my other arm over her hips to take the syringe from my pocket. The needle cap is barely heard over the sound of her moans, and she’s lost to her desire as I slowly push the sharp point into her outer thigh.