Page 37 of Unmasking Mayhem (Behind the Mask Duet #2)

seventeen

reality

Raze (“Havoc”)

Hypnotized: Plies, Akon

T he first snowfall catches me off guard, descending softly in the stillness of night and leaving a delicate, shimmering white blanket over Boston.

I exhale, rubbing my hands together, captivated by the way my breath mingles with the cold air.

The distant noise from the street—cars colliding and horns blaring—gradually fades as I fix my gaze on Whitney, who sleeps peacefully in her bed.

I inch closer to the balcony door, inserting the key into the lock with care, slipping inside as snowflakes scatter across her floor.

Conscious of Dustin's watchful presence— he's always fucking lurking —I draw the curtains shut, even though I know it won’t truly shield us.

He'll always find a way to fucking manipulate every part of Whitney’s heart and soul.

I bring my Glock to her bedside, tucking it under the pillow before shedding my cold, damp coat and sliding into bed beside her.

The moment my icy fingers graze her midriff, she jolts awake, bolting upright in alarm, her wide eyes searching the dark room.

Slowly, the fear in her gaze begins to fade as she locks her eyes onto mine.

I draw her closer, pressing her against me and holding her waist for comfort.

“Raze, what are you doing here?” She murmurs sleepily, rubbing her heavy eyes.

“That’s a silly question; I’m always here whether you realize it or not,” I chuckle, flashing a seductive wink that brings a soft smile to her plump, dry lips.

Her smile melts away the chill in me, even warming my fucking heart. Yet, a sharp pain lingers, striking deep for reasons I can’t explain. Sensing my worry, she sits up, brushing her palm against my cheek and leaning her forehead against mine with a sigh.

“What’s bothering you?” She whispers, almost so softly that I might have missed it, but unfortunately, I didn’t.

“Just a lot on my mind lately,” I confess, my breath coming in heavy bursts as I feel like I might explode.

And then, it all comes rushing out like vomit, and I can't seem to stop it. “Hawk’s been worrying me; he’s struggling with his mental health more than ever.

I know you’re going through hell with King, and it makes my stomach fucking churn thinking about what he wants you to do.

And I’m fucking scared, Whit—scared that Dustin will strike at any moment; I have no idea what he’s plotting. I feel so damn vulnerable.”

She rises from the bed, pulling me to my feet and leading me to the window seat beside the balcony door, where the snow falls gracefully, twinkling like diamonds in the light.

I wrap my arms around her waist, resting my chin on her shoulder while she leans back, her nails trailing softly along my arm—an intimacy that feels surprisingly relaxing.

“I really want you,” she whispers, changing the subject, her gaze unwavering from the snow as her nails dig into my forearms.

“I always fucking want you,” I growl in her ear, reaching into my pocket to pull out my new knife.

Holding it up to the moonlight streaming in through the window, I can feel her body tense with a mix of excitement and apprehension. My tongue teases her earlobe, and my warm breath sends shivers through her.

“See the size of the handle?” I remark, my fingers gliding over the sleek blade.

With a swift movement, I hurl the knife toward the window seat, where the razor-sharp blade embeds almost entirely into the wood. The smooth handle glints as it stands proudly, Whitney’s eyes captivated by it.

“Why did you do that?” she asks, her throat dryer than moments ago.

“Because I want you to fucking ride it while I fuck you from behind… up against the window so he can watch,” I reply, tugging her silky pajama shorts down, leaving her half-naked against me.

“Who, Dustin?”

“Exactly,” I smirk, stripping off my shirt and pushing my pants down, watching as she sheds her shirt, letting it fall to her feet.

Grabbing a handful of her hair, I guide her closer to the window, marveling as she straddles the knife handle, glancing back at me over her shoulder. I stroke myself, pausing occasionally to spit in my hand and wipe it along her pussy, making sure she’s ready for me.

“Don’t be shy, Little Mischief. Enjoy the knife,” I grin, continuing to stroke as I watch her lift one leg and kneel on the seat, positioning the tip of the handle over her eager entrance, sinking down with her eyes locked intensely on mine.

I let her ride the knife handle for a few minutes while I fist my cock to the sight.

It’s when she turns her head and looks at me over her shoulder, her mouth parting as she moans, rubbing her clit, that I propel forward, tugging her against my body, my hand on her lower back.

Slowly, I ease inside her ass, feeling her tight muscles suck me in and grip my cock like a vice.

"Jesus," I pant in her ear as we find a perfect rhythm, our hands pressed against the glass in front of us.

I thrust again into her ass, her body shaking in ecstasy.

She bounces on my knife and moans my name out loud, and it's like music to my fucking ears.

I wrap my hand around her throat and drag my tongue up the side of her neck, my eyes heavily fixated on the window, desperately searching for signs of Dustin, and it doesn't take long to spot a reflection of his red laser he always has pointed on Whitney's bedroom window—I flash a smile in his direction, knowing how much it'll piss him off.

I still fuck her, taking every inch of her that I can as she continues riding the handle and leaning back against me, her hands desperately clawing at my hips as she reaches behind her to pull me even closer.

She smiles, licking her lips and making me shiver as I bite my lip.

All of our problems melt away with each thrust, surging us deeper into a world of make-believe, where suffering isn't even in the fucking vocabulary.

It's just me and her, and no one else can come in between us, not anymore.

The way Whitney moans my name brings me ecstasy one moment, but the reminder of Dustin sends a shiver down my spine the next, sharpening my instincts.

I shove a hand beneath her chin, tilting her face toward mine.

“Whit, come for me,” I growl, my breath ragged and urgent.

The starvation in her eyes matches my own, but it’s overshadowed by the lurking threat of the man who wouldn’t hesitate to fucking destroy everything we hold dear.

“Okay,” she breathes, her fingers curling tighter around my wrists as our rhythm quickens.

The knife handle feels like it might snap at any moment, but we’re both too lost in the heat of the moment to care. I press into her ass harder, feeling the world outside evaporate.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” I murmur against the shell of her ear, my voice low and desperate as I tug her closer. “So tight and wet for me, aren’t you, baby?”

“Mmm, yes, Raze. Yes ,” she moans, making my cock twitch inside of her.

The sound of the city is muted now, the snow absorbing the chaos outside, transforming Boston into a winter wonderland.

Her nails dig into my arms, urging me on, and I meet her thrust for thrust, fingers tightening around her throat just enough to make her gasp, an intoxicating blend of pleasure and danger radiating between us.

I can see the reflection of the moonlight tracing the edges of her silhouette; the pride that has welled up inside me is almost fucking unbearable.

“You’re fucking mine, Whitney. Just mine.”

“Forever,” she gasps, her body betraying her with every grind against me.

That word—“ forever ”—strikes a chord within me, a double-edged sword.

I want it, need it, and fucking crave it more than I’ve ever craved anything.

But the harsh reality is that Dustin won’t allow us that luxury.

Suddenly, the quiet is pierced by a sharp crackle—a sound so familiar it sends a jolt of adrenaline through my veins.

“The fuck was that?” I rasp, breaking our connection for just a heartbeat as I scold my instincts to rein in the passion. My senses heighten, scanning the scene outside, scanning for shadows in the dark.

“Raze?” Whitney looks back, confusion mixing with concern.

“Stay here,” I command, reluctantly releasing her and sliding off the window seat. I can’t afford to be distracted—not now.

I edge closer to the window, peering through the snow-dusted glass. My heart races as I spot movement at the far side of the street, the haunting flicker of headlights cutting through the darkness.

“Dustin,” I hiss, fire building in my chest. I couldn't shake off the feeling that he was close; it was like a sick sixth sense whispering threats in my ear.

“Raze, what’s happening?” Whitney whispers urgently from behind me, worry creeping into her tone.

I turn to her, my heart heavy with the knowledge that our moment of bliss is slipping away.

“Dustin’s out there. I can feel it. We need to be smart,” I warn, moving swiftly back to her and pulling her up against me, wanting to shield her from the world outside, even as anticipation tightens within me.

“But we can’t leave, can we?” She asks, her eyes wide with fear, the soft vulnerability of her expression tugging at every protective instinct I possess.

“No, not right now. Just… trust me,” I murmur, brushing my knuckles down her cheek. “I couldn't protect you from him when we were younger, but I sure as fuck can now.”

A dark thought lingers in my mind: what if Dustin tries to use us against each other?

But I shove that concern down and focus on the now, the honeyed softness of Whitney against me, and the warmth of our moment swirling together like the snow now blanketing the city.

She nods, understanding flickering in her gaze as she locks her arms around my neck, pulling me back into the pulse of our intimacy.