Page 73 of Grave Love

“Five.”

My voice is on an endless track in the background:No matter how hard I try, I’ll never be good enough.

“Four.”

This isn’t real. None of it is. My skin is clammy, and it’s proof that this is a trick. A trap to manipulate me into some twisted game.

“Three.”

He pulls back the hammer, then adjusts his grip on my hand so that my finger is on the trigger. His hips move, his cock massaging my ass back and forth, every sense in overdrive. Tendons strain my neck. I can’t think.

Is this what I wanted?

“Two—”

Good enough for whom?the recording of Blaze says.

The video cuts to another clip. My voice is quiet, but the words are clear:For myself.

Every inch of me trembles, my ass gyrating on top of him. Blaze’s cock twitches inside of my ass; his eyes stay focused on me. Only me.

Thisiswhat I wanted. What I promised I would do. Why I agreed to all of this. Why I trust Blaze.

And I do trust Blaze.

But I don’t want to die like this.

“One—”

Suddenly he grabs my throat, the pressure violent, the will to fight oozing out of me, and my body reacts. Automatic. A system made for him. My pussy clenches, the muscles in my ass squeezing around him, and my finger tightens against the trigger—

Everything turns white. And I come, convulsing as the trigger clicks into place. The hammer falls to its position, and I twitch. My body flails. Blaze holds me in place. He fucks me harder, harder still, tearing apart my ass, and it hurts until the pleasure overrides it, forcing me to see the other side. Forcing me to breathe deep. Blaze growls, and my body tenses all over again, and his eyes roll to the back of his head as he comes inside of me.

Filling me.

Me.

His focus returns, and he holds my hips, standing as he turns around, lying me down on my back. The comforter is soft, softer than it should be with a man like him, and I blink.

I’m still here.

Every emotion, every pain that I’ve held onto for so long, comes rushing out, and I try to reason with myself. With the relief. With the fact that I feel good. That I did it. That I didn’t want to shoot myself, but I did it anyway. I did it for him. And he made me come.

And I’m still here.

Blaze removes his cock slowly, his come dripping out of my gaping hole. A flicker of emotion washes over his eyes as he studies me. The corners of his face wrinkles in pride. Warmth. Is it joy?

He bends down, crawling on top of my exhausted body.

Then he presses his lips to mine.

The aching pressure of what could’ve happened surrounds us, filling the void with our erratic breathing as we swallow each other’s air. I wail into his mouth, begging for an explanation, begging for the reasons why he kept the gun unloaded, why he taunted me that way. Why he forced me to endure that darkness. His hands dig behind my head, holding my skull like he’s carrying a wounded animal. Metal clatters to the ground, and the gun is with the rest of the discarded restraints and weapons now.

I’m relieved. And I feel so stupid for that.

I’m wasting Blaze’s time.

That’s why he’s doing this. To prove how stupid I am. That I don’t know what I want. That I’m not good enough, even to kill. Why I can’t—