Page 14 of Unmasking Mayhem (Behind the Mask Duet #2)

seven

memories

two weeks later

Hawk (“Crow”)

The Old Us: Hopsin

A s I gaze up at Whitney while we lounge on her balcony, I share a moment with her, spitting gently into her mouth.

She swirls it around before letting it spill onto the tip of my cock, her hand rhythmically pumping up and down, coating my shaft with the mixture of our spit.

A shiver runs through me from her touch and the glimmer in her eyes as I guide her head down again, thrusting my hips to meet her mouth.

The crisp autumn air wraps around our bare bodies, yet the warmth between us shields us from the chill outside.

“Fuck, that’s it,” I groan, gripping her hair tightly as she bobs her head in a mesmerizing rhythm, my eyes fluttering and lips parting beneath my mask.

She hums around me, the vibrations driving me wild. One hand cradles my balls, while the other trails down my abdomen, her sharp nails leaving a mark that sends an electrifying chill through me once more.

The past couple of weeks we have found ourselves at Whitney's place while Raze recovers. It’s been a strategic move for our safety, keeping us away from our own home and providing Whitney constant protection, especially since no one has been caught yet.

Raze is still struggling with the memories from the night he was shot and nearly lost his life, and my own paranoia has only amplified my episodes.

We’ve been here for about a week, and so far, all has been quiet, but we’re acutely aware that this calm is merely the eye of the storm; there's more to come, and we're trying to be fucking ready for it.

A sharp twist of my pierced nipple snaps me back to the moment, and I glance down to see Whitney staring at me, swirling her tongue around the head of my dick, probably wondering where my mind went all of a sudden.

"Keep sucking, Little Mischief; I'm close to filling that pretty little mouth with every drop I've fucking got." I wink, seeing a smile breaking through her puffy lips, my cock slipping from between them.

"What's on your mind?" she asks, sitting up but continuing to stroke me to not lose momentum.

"I don’t want to talk about it," I snap, suddenly feeling angry for no apparent reason. "Just fucking suck my dick or climb the fuck off so I can take care of it myself."

Her eyes widen, and the look she gives me turns my fucking blood to ice, freezing in my veins.

Her eyes flicker with a hint of anger, mirroring mine, and to my surprise, she climbs off of me and pulls her shirt back on, covering her body but stopping just below her ass, so I can still see her plump cheeks sticking out from beneath the hem.

"Fucking take care of it yourself then, asshole ," she spits, turning on her heel to walk back inside.

But I've got other plans, it seems. And before I know it, I'm on my feet, chasing after her, my blood now boiling like fucking lava.

I reach her before she manages to step in the sliding glass door, and I slam it shut, pinning her to the cold glass with my hand around her throat and my body flush against hers.

"Let me go, Crow," she snaps, a devilish look in her eyes that only makes me harder for her.

"Nah, you want to be a fucking bitch, I'm going to show you how I deal with bitches," I growl, roughly spinning her around and pressing her face into the glass door, lifting her shirt over her ass and kicking her feet apart.

Still choking her, I guide my cock to her dripping pussy, rubbing the tip up and down her wetness before plunging in using a single, dominating thrust that shoves her even harder against the door.

She fights against my hold as I fuck her, losing control thrust by thrust, without fully realizing the extent of it.

I ignore her whimpers—for the first time in my fucking life, I ignore her, just worrying about how much I want to fucking break her into submission.

I choke her even harder, feeling her veins pulse rapidly against the pads of my fingers as she reaches up and frantically claws at my hand to try and loosen my grip. But it doesn't work.

I push her hip down and continue to fuck her, sliding in rough and deep, pressing against her cervix, which makes her body quiver like I fucking knew it would.

I know what her body wants, what it likes, and what it doesn't. I know what she needs, what she craves, and what she's most fearful of.

But trapped in the middle of an episode that I can feel quickly taking over entirely, the ability to give a fuck about anything—even Whitney—is completely nonexistent.

The rational part of my mind knows this is wrong and that I'm going to fucking regret it, but the irrational part—the violent part—doesn't fucking care about the consequences, and that's where I know I'm going to fucking lose her. But I can’t stop.

"You're fucking mine, Whitney. When are you going to realize it?

I fucking own you, baby. Your body and mind are mine to mold and claim, and I know deep down you want everything I have to give," I whisper in her ear, yanking her hips back and driving my cock so deep in her pussy that she cries out, clutching her stomach as my dick prods even deeper, reminding her of who she belongs to.

"Crow... st... stop it," she pleads, but it falls on deaf ears.

I'm too far gone, and I can't do anything about it.

"I'm gonna fucking break you down and then build your ass up, Whitney. I'll treat you like a fucking princess, but I'll fuck you like my dirty, dirty little whore."

I can feel my balls tighten, and I know I'm about to come. Swiftly, I spin her around, letting go of her throat so she can breathe, and shove her viciously to her knees, hearing them collide with the hard wood beneath my feet.

"You're going to be my good little cum slut, and you're going to swallow every fucking drop," I warn, seeing the surprised look in her eyes as she studies the crazed look in mine.

"If you waste even a fucking drop, you'll be tied to your bed, and we're going to fucking practice until you catch all of my cum and swallow every drop. Do I make myself fucking clear?"

She nods, still speechless, even though my cock isn't in her mouth.

She puts her hands on my upper thighs, digging her nails into my skin as she leans in, licking a long, teasing line from my balls to the tip of my dick, and then she sucks me deep inside, sealing her puffy lips around the base of my dick, instinctively looking up at me as she deepthroats me, taking every thick inch without gagging or flinching.

Looking down, I see the bruises already forming around her throat, and a sharp pain stabs at my heart, but the manic fog taking over my mind doesn't allow me to acknowledge it.

I need my fucking meds. When Raze hears about this—because he will—he's going to want to fucking kick my ass.

.. or kill me for hurting her after all that she's been through.

Purposely, she digs her nails so deep that the sharpness brings tears to my eyes, but not enough to fall.

I hiss, grabbing her cheeks and squeezing them while my dick is buried down her fucking throat, and then, to be even more of a dick, I pinch her nose so she can't breathe.

And then fuck, I use her throat like her pussy, and I fuck her hard, deep, and brutally, causing little cracks in her lips to bleed from being stretched beyond their usual limit.

Still not a tear in her fucking eye, but the sting of betrayal feels like a fucking knife to my heart.

I can feel my balls pulsing and my cock throbbing as my toes curl inside my socks, my climax surging through me like a fucking tidal wave.

Before I know it, my cum spills into her warm mouth, sliding down her throat while she still sucks through gasping breaths, keeping her nails dug into my skin out of spite.

What finally resonates with me—what finally stops me from the brutality I'm putting her through—is the look in her eyes matching the one on her face, the look that tells me this is what she's used to.

This violence is what she thinks she deserves, and that's all because of Dustin, and my ass can't help fucking treat her the way he did.

She swallows every drop of my cum, but by the time I help her to her feet, just wanting to console her from the hell that I just put her through, she gives me a look of betrayal and shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes that make me feel like I've been stabbed in the fucking heart again.

"Whitney," I begin softly, my voice cracking, about to fucking break. "I'm sor—"

"Don't fucking worry about it, Crow. Everything is fine," she assures me, forcing a smile that I've seen too many times before.

She adjusts her shirt and her hair, then wipes her smudged makeup from under her eyes to make it look like nothing happened between us, and shoots me one last fake smile before stepping through the sliding door into the safety of her apartment... far away from me, and shit, I can't blame her.

What the fuck did I just do?

I'm left standing there in the dim hallway, the silence of the night pressing down on me like a heavy curtain. The adrenaline from the moment is still echoing in my veins, but it’s rapidly being replaced by cold regret.

I lean against the wall, trying to catch my breath, and close my eyes, desperate to block out the images of her tear-streaked face.

I should have fucking known better. I should have understood that this was never about pleasure; it was about power, control—a twisted echo of the violence I detest. I feel like a fucking monster, a reflection of the very thing I promised never to become.

The memory of her wide-eyed vulnerability—an innocent caught in the storm of my rage—sears into my fucking mind, and I’m haunted by the devastation I’ve just unleashed.