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SHILOH

I end the call and set the phone on silent mode.

To hell with Dad’s lawyers. The news. The entire world. I leave the useless device on the bed and walk into my closet.

Where I hide my secret. The one I’ve managed to keep from Dad for over a decade.

I swore to him that I threw Kaleb’s mask away.

I’m a horrible liar. I stutter and flush. My words come out jumbled.

But I refused to get rid of it. Couldn’t bear the thought of losing Kaleb for good.

I did what I had to. I imagined Kaleb’s mask in the dumpster and told Dad I threw it out. For a second, I thought he wouldn't believe me. Dad was quiet, then he relented. He couldn’t go through my stuff when I was at boarding school. Sending someone to do it for him would mean a scandal.

That’s how I got to hold on to it .

Rising on my tiptoes, I stretch out my hand. Swipe it once over the top shelf, deeper.

Got it.

My secret shoebox. Greedily, I grab it with both hands and bring it down.

My heart swoops as I look at it. Butterflies assault my stomach.

My panties are wet, and the lid is still closed. I don’t have to see it for the emotions to rise.

I’m holding on to a memory of a man who used to be my friend. A man who might be on his way to kill me.

Wanting him is a risk.

He could actually show up here, and who knows? I might welcome him into my home.

He could hurt me, then.

Kill me as payback for not standing up for him.

Fearing him turns me on even more. My body is begging for things that would horrify most people.

The smart, sensible thing would be to throw the mask away. It’s not right, the way it’s making me feel. For my stepbrother. A murderer.

So wrong.

I tear off the lid and toss it aside.

A sliver of light from the window filters into my bedroom and closet, illuminating Kaleb’s second face.

White latex. Black eye holes that let him see without being seen.

Rough brown hair that’s nothing like his. My stepbrother’s hair was always cut short. Always perfectly messy .

Maybe that was why he liked the mask. So he could appear as flawed and damaged as he must’ve felt.

I know I could use one. I’m damaged. A horrible, deplorable person.

The reason he’d been locked up.

Me.

“Kaleb.” I drop to my knees, setting the box aside. The mask is in my hands, and now it’s just me and him.

The heat between my legs can’t mean anything good. This isn’t right. It makes no sense, my physical reaction to his mask.

His mask.

This isn’t a meltdown. Isn’t a panic attack.

This is longing. This is pain.

This is a sick kind of love no one should ever feel. Not for their stepbrother. Not for a murderer. Not for a man they haven’t talked to in eleven years.

It is what it is. A vile desire.

This is hell.

I slide the closet door shut.

The texture of the latex in my hands is comforting, though it really shouldn’t be.

It takes the edge off. Air filters into my lungs. I need more. I need to be protected. Sheltered.

I need to be his.

This temptation has to go away. The throbbing between my thighs needs to stop.

Impossible .

With each passing second, the buzzing in my body grows. Multiplies.

I close my eyes, imagining him. Blank, black eyes stare at me. Heated ones. Tempting ones.

I’m not that far gone that I think Kaleb’s here in spirit. I’m fully aware that my obsession with him is triggering me to feel his presence, regardless.

He’s the boogeyman, true.

He’s also the kid I called my brother. The reason I was excited to come home every day.

He’s a man. A really hot one. I’ve never met anyone as terrifying as he is. No one’s brought up these emotions in me.

My fingers squeeze the mask, thumbs rubbing the coarse material. I raise it until it’s at eye level with me.

I’m panting as I draw it closer to my face. The lips are inches from mine, and my pussy is soaked, my nipples tightening. Electricity pulses through me, one painful, humiliating current after the other.

No, Kaleb isn’t there.

But I do feel him. I do.

My savior.

Sick , my father’s voice taunts.

My stepbrother , I answer.

Murderer. He’s escaped, and he’ll kill you next.

The only person who ever believed me.

Psychopath.

Don’t care.

He’s been occupying my mind for hours, days, months. I tried resisting it. Tried shaming myself for falling for my stepbrother, who had blood on his hands. Who hasn’t shown an ounce of remorse for what he’s done.

He tore out the hearts of the kids who molested me. He killed the innocent guard and driver.

That ought to snuff out any hint of desire I might’ve had for him.

Unfortunately, feelings don’t work that way.

For years, I’ve thought of him as more than my stepbrother. I’ve craved him.

I pull the mask closer to my face. Open my eyes.

There are still a couple of inches separating us.

I lower myself to the floor, taking him with me.

Pretending he’s here.

Kaleb seemed bigger in the picture they had on the news. Broader. He must be taller, too. To put his face to mine, he’d have to bend to kiss me. I’d be so small next to him.

He’s here , my twisted mind tells me.

Then it does more than that.

His mask changes in my grip. An invisible face stretching it from the inside.

High cheekbones and a square jawline push against the aging material. The mask is warm to the touch.

Heat rushes up my neck as my mind dives deeper into my fantasy. Resisting it is as useless as it’s ever been.

I want him here. Confined within my dream world where he won’t hurt me. Or, he’ll hurt me until he rids me of all the guilt that’s been eating me alive for years.

My jaw goes slack. My lips part. In my mind’s eye, the lips on the mask do the same. They part for me. Invite me .

No, not inviting. Ordering me to press mine to them.

There’ll be hell to pay if you deny me . It’s a hushed warning. It’s as loud as if he were actually here. You’ll deserve it, too, little sister. I’ll take my sweet time carving your heart out of your chest.

I imagine all the pain he could inflict, and I have to bite my cheek to stifle a moan. I’m mortified. Humiliated.

Doesn’t change the fact that my body craves him. I lean into the mask at the same time I crush it to my mouth.

Lips on lips. A moan I can’t hold back anymore slips past mine.

My eyes close, giving in to the moment.

Logically, I know the mask isn’t responding to my movements. I know there’s no one behind it.

I give it—to him—everything I have just the same.

This is my reality. This kiss. This desire. I surrender to him, darting my tongue out to swipe along the seam of his lips.

A sting on my bottom lip. It’s him. He’d bite me. He is biting me, right here, right now.

Sharp, imaginary teeth sink into my flesh and, fuck, I’m soaked.

The closet is too small. My clothes are too tight. Shame, guilt, and my feral needs make a heady concoction.

Let me taste you.

My eyes snap open at the command, staring into the darkness.

Normally, this is as far as my twisted mind would go. I kiss him when I’m lonely. That’s it. A kiss.

But—

Let me taste you .

It’s louder the second time around. Rough and commanding in my head. Thunder cracking in the skies. A hand wrapped around my throat.

“T-taste what?”

It doesn’t escape me that I’m talking to a mask.

I’ve been spiraling for eleven years, and it’s getting worse. Fast.

Maybe once I finish my master’s, I’ll have the right tools to handle this . The craving. The way my sanity slips as I let these moments consume me.

Today, I’m helpless to fight it. The tide is sweeping me away. Pulling me under.

Your pussy. Let me taste your pussy.

I whimper, my hands trembling.

Now.

“Okay.”

Good girl.

Some lines can’t be uncrossed.

Some actions can never be justified.

Lying down and pulling my jeans and panties down while I hang onto Kaleb’s mask is something I can never come back from.

That’s it. You’re doing so well. Take it all off for me.

Cool air grazes my naked core, and I gasp. My heels dig into the floor.

A pause. This is it. My last attempt to put an end to this debauchery.

Have no doubt, I’ll find you, Shiloh. I’ll punish you for making me wait tonight. For holding back on me. You’ll be begging for mercy, and I’ll remind you of this moment. What a brat you’ve been. I’ll remind you how you wouldn’t let me eat your cunt in painful, cruel ways. You’ll be screaming by the time I’m done with you.

What is this voice? My imagination?

Is any of it really him?

Why am I soaking, dreading, and needing it?

There’s no explanation. It’s a waste of time searching for it now.

I’ll look into this later. At another time, when the dirty talk, fear, and desire aren’t creating a dangerous cocktail in my head.

My knees drop to the sides.

His mask is right there, over my pussy.

Fuck, yes. You smell so sweet. So mine.

Guilt claws at my chest. I don’t have the right to drag Kaleb into this fantasy. No right whatsoever. I haven’t done a single thing to save him.

I could blame my father’s reign of terror, but truthfully, it’s all on me.

If it weren’t for me, Kaleb would’ve never gotten locked up in the first place.

Kaleb, the real man instead of the one I fantasize about, must resent me. For getting him into this mess in the first place. For years of radio silence.

I should ask him for forgiveness. Offer him my life in exchange for his.

When I see him. If ever.

Never mind. Not now .

This, here, is a different version of Kaleb. This is about desire. About sex. About the person I’ve been secretly saving myself for.

In my head, our connection is undeniable. An unstoppable force.

It’s an attraction that began a few years after he was incarcerated. Maybe I’m drawn to the danger. Maybe I need this one person, this one man who stood up for me.

Whatever the reason is, it happened. Admiration turned to lust.

I want him.

And here, in my closet, he’s looking at me like the woman I am.

Whether the real Kaleb will keep me alive after, I can’t be sure.

Not like it matters.

My hands move on their own, pressing the lips of the mask to my pussy.

A wave of pleasure crashes into me, so strong that my head thrashes to the side, my back arching. My breaths are ragged, shaky.

“Fuck,” I groan. The contact. The friction.

The feel of him. He’s the first man to kiss me there.

I’m submitting to him, to Kaleb. Holy fuck. I can’t stop grinding my hips toward him. Can’t silence the sounds I’m making.

This is real. This is very, very real.

You think I’m done? Hell no. Fuck my face harder, little sister. I want your taste on my tongue for weeks.

I curse and moan as I rub the mask over my pussy. Not missing a spot, I roll it from my entrance and up. Slowly. Tentatively. Like God Himself might strike me for giving in to my impulses.

I’m your God here. Harder, Shiloh. Faster. Or do you want me to choke the life out of you for being bad?

The last of my inhibitions snaps as I do as the voice says. His voice.

I press the mask tighter to my pussy, rubbing it against the wettest parts of me.

The nose and lips stroke my clit over and over, driving me closer to the edge. Building my orgasm. I hear Kaleb’s groans as if he were down there, between my thighs. Licking, biting, sucking.

I don’t know if he’s had any sexual experience. I don’t know if he’s ever thought about me like I think of him.

What I do know is that this version of Kaleb is devoted to me and no one else. He is, and he— fuck —eats me out just the right way. Just how I’d like it.

With him, I wouldn’t feel shame or pain. I’d feel his tongue on my lips and— my God, that tip of his nose on me —his fingers on my body.

I’d feel him.

A few more strokes and it’s like my brain explodes. I push the mask into me, hard, as I lift my hips and ride it. Riding out my orgasm that has my toes curling, and my mind going numb.

“Kaleb. Kaleb. Kaleb,” I chant his name. The name of my God .

But good things never last, do they?

No, they don’t. Not for me.

When my orgasm simmers, the closet is as empty as ever. Lonely. Cold.

As if they never left, fear and guilt crash into me.

Burdened by shame, I get up, peeking into my room from the closet. The empty bedroom.

He isn’t here. Of course he isn’t.

Doesn’t mean he couldn’t be. Later tonight, he could show up here. Hurt me. Kill me. I won’t blame him.

My chest tightens. My stomach dips.

It isn’t safe for me to go out there. I can’t make myself leave the closet to clean the evidence of my orgasm from my thighs and wipe it off the mask.

I can’t leave it dirty, either.

Sliding the door closed, I take a deep breath. Bring the mask close to my face. I lick off my orgasm, taking my time as I swipe my tongue all over it.

A second orgasm builds inside me, and I hate myself for getting turned on by this.

I’m distraught, that’s what I am. I won’t blame myself for making love to a mask. For falling for my stepbrother.

No matter how wrong it is.

Not tonight.

I keep going, doing my best to remove any evidence of my depravity, then pull my panties back on.

In another life, we could be good together. Could be happy.

In another life, where nothing bad ever happens .

There, I’m never conflicted about my feelings. There, I don’t go to bed each night, fearing the boogeyman and what he might do to me. In that place, I don’t crave it.

Unfortunately, I’m here. Alone and scared.

I hug the mask to my chest. Pinch my eyes closed, lie on my side, and curl into a ball.

A few deep breaths, and my brain finally, blissfully, shuts down.

Tomorrow will be better.

Tomorrow, I’ll be stronger. I won’t feel any of this.

Hopefully, with Kaleb far, far away from here.

As much as I want him, as much as I need to confront this fear, he can’t be here.

Truthfully, I don’t care whether he kills me or not.

I care about him.

He can’t risk getting caught again.

After years of wrongful imprisonment, Kaleb Leo Blackwood deserves to be free.