Page 42 of My Girl

She stays firmly in place, holding her ground. My boots echo through the basement. Her eyes trace me as she figures out her next move.

I stop right in front of her. I’m so close, I can breathe on her. She licks her lips.

“We’re hosting a murder-suicide anniversary party here,” she says.

“An anniversary party,” I say with amusement. I stroke my hands down the sides of her arms. She shivers.

“I figured you’d want to know.”

“I won’t plan any murders that night, then,” I tease. “Unless…your guests would like the show?”

She stiffens, then continues: “The party is on the anniversary of all six deaths. The Galloways and the Halls.”

She thinks she’s going to bring out the killer then. I click my jaw.

“How smart,” I say. I squeeze her shoulders. She avoids my gaze, but her chest expands; she can’t help but lean into my touch. “Another excuse you’re telling yourself. A fake reason to explain why you’re here.” I put a gloved finger under her chin, lifting her up, until she’s finally looking into my mesh-covered eyes.

In this mask, she can’t see me, and I can’t truly see her. It’s fitting. One day, I’ll reveal myself. She’ll have no excuses then. She won’t be able to lie to herself.

“You know the real reason you’re here,” I murmur. “Don’t you?”

Her eyes flicker across mine. I can imagine it from her point of view: the dark, cavernous eye sockets; a figure; a creature; something you know should look human; something you know breathes and bleeds like you; a morbid fantasy; a monster you want sexually; and you tell yourself it’s okay, because at least he’s notreal.

I clutch her throat just enough to remind her of her place. She groans, startled by the contact, and her noise oozes with lust. She stands on her toes.

“You know what you want,” I say.

She licks her lips, finding her strength. “If you think you know what I want, then take me,” she bargains, her voice husky. “Take me exactly how you want.”

A warmth flows inside of me, like a gust of heat from a car’s engine. The girl is trying to regain the upper hand. To prove that she can control me with her sexuality like she controls everyone else. She knows I like being in control too, but she thinks ifshe’sthe one who gives it to me willingly, she’ll be able to manipulate me back.

I know exactly how to mold her too. I love this game with her.

“Beg for it,” I demand.

Those misty brown eyes blink at me, wavering with desire. Then her whole body is quivering, amping it up,pretendingjust for me.

“Please,” she whispers.

I keep still.

“Will you take what you want from me?” she adds. She pulls at my gloved hands. “Crave?”

I let go of her neck. She immediately gets down on her knees. She fumbles around, crawling like a dog.

“Please,” she says.

“Use full sentences. I can’t understand you like that,” I snap.

She lowers her head. Her lips are inches away from my boot. I could lift my toe, and she’d be kissing them.

“Please use me,” she says.

I grab her red hair and shove her face until she’s smothered against my boot.

“Stick out your tongue,” I say. Her pink muscle slithers out. I angle her so that she’s dragging her tongue across the leather. “There it is. That’s it.” My dick grows, and I rub it through my pants. “Lick it up, you dumb slut.”

She moans, her body languid, her hips circling in lust. I spit, the drop landing on the top of my other boot, and I move her head, using her hair like a leash.