29. Augustus
TWENTY-NINE
AUGUSTUS
May 10th, 2024
I want to tell Stetson everything. Correction, I need to tell her everything. Every day I don’t becomes another small weight on my chest, piling so high now I can barely breathe—it’s suffocating. I need to go about it in the right way, make her see both the monster and the man are deserving of her love; I want her to need me, all of me, as desperately as I need all of her—good and bad, innocent and filthy, comforting and painful.
The question isn’t if; it never has been. It’s only how—how can I show her the man who has haunted her, is the same man who is helplessly in love with her and has been for ten long years? How can I ensure she can reconcile the two masks I wear belonging to the same face?
Another floorboard squeaks and I pause, exhaling my frustrations—I’ve nearly worn through the old wood with my insistent walking. My nerves sizzle just beneath my skin, my stomach swarmed with horse-sized butterflies; I’m a fucking wreck, and I’ve never felt more pathetic in my life.
How does this woman turn me inside out so easily, light me on fire so effectively, consume me so wholly?
Like the coward she is, she retreated from me when she realized Nathan would no longer be her barrier. I solved one problem, only to make ten more—which is maddening. Stetson didn’t give me time to talk to her, much less confess my deepest secret to her, before she had run away from me like she always does.
I don’t understand what she’s so afraid of. Is there something I’m missing?
It’s not just me and my dominance. Even if Stetson hates her soul’s reaction to me and my brand of dominance, she can’t fight against it. I know—I’ve watched her for years, trying to overcome her kinky desires, but they win out every single time.
What is scarier than giving in to her desires? Love? Could she feel so strongly for me already, and that is what is terrifying her? Yes, it is what I have labored for for ten years, but to see it unfolding before me so quickly, so easily? Could it be real?
I need to know. I have to know why she’s so afraid. Even if that means I have to finally come out of the shadows to do so.
I climb the stairs three at a time, running my hands angrily through my dark curls as I go. Reaching the landing, her door is closed, and as I push on it, only for it to resist.
She fucking locked me out.
“Fuck!” I hiss, my hands tangling in the long strands hard enough to see small stars. On the other side, I can hear an audiobook rumbling, and the faint sighs of sleep. She never locks this door, never . But whatever she is feeling has her so afraid she felt the need to lock me out. She wasn’t this withdrawn with a stalker coming into her house, coming on her and in her, threatening her. But me—the softer, kinder me—that’s the beast she is more afraid of.
And it fucking hurts.
Slumping to the floor in front of her room, I hang my head between my hands. I will make her see, I will make her face her fears. I’m finally on the other side. We are on the other side of this unbearably long journey. And as terrifying as that might be, it will be worth it. She just has to let me prove it to her.
I thrust my head against her door as I lean back and close my eyes, remembering the one time in ten years I broke my celibacy. It’s the only thing that can get me through nights like this—ones where I feel like my skin is on fire—and I instantly feel my cock hardening inside my jeans. That night, I made her admit her desires, made her play them out the way no one had ever done, and made her accept them in order to get her sweet, sweet release.
This is no different. Only, I think her admitting her feelings will be even sweeter than her admitting her kinks. If that’s even possible.
I close my eyes, the memory as vivid as if I am reliving it, and I’m grateful for the sounds of the audiobook to drown me out on the other side of the door.
January 15th, 2020
I stalk after her, as I always do. Only this time, I can’t control the gnashing teeth of the monster inside myself—and I don’t want to. I will have her, just this once, because not having her will be the death of me. She walks toward the red door at the side of the building—this sex club is the kind that caters to masks, dom and sub play, and public degradation. It’s a kink lover’s dream house, and Stetson strides toward it like she owns the place. For tonight only, she’s freeing herself, or trying to. I don’t even think my girl knows what she wants yet, but I’ll show her. I’ll ruin her for anyone after me, too. Coming here to escape, to find others who relish in her kind of depravity, who want to be anonymous and have anonymous sex—all things I’m good at. All the things I plan to give her.
Because even if it kills me, I will give her anything. Even if I have to steal it from her to give it back.
Stetson is dressed in a skin-tight black dress. The silky fabric is painted over her soft tummy and thick thighs in a sinfully graphic way, and there’s no doubt in my mind, if someone even thinks of touching that fabric besides me, they will be dying. I have starved myself for her, and tonight no one is claiming what is mine besides me. Her silken hair is lightly curled and swept up into a high ponytail, her makeup done dark and sensual.
This club requires applications and IDs, but also encourages masks and disguises. As long as you can prove who you are when entering, anonymity is your choice, and she is going to thrive under such conditions. Stetson always falls into the submissive category, even if tonight she looks like a dominatrix in her black glittering mask. As I’ve watched her explore over the years, I know submission during sex is a way to forget how she feels, who she is, what trauma she has been through. I applaud her for her strength—she is a woman after my own heart. And even though I don’t know what inspired her to attend tonight—the act so out of character for her—I will be taking advantage, all the same.
Tonight, she will not be getting an escape from her life, her feelings—I’m going to make her feel everything—scar her heart the way she has mine. She will think of her monster every night after this. Ache for him. Pray for him.
It’s a small piece of the puzzle—falling into place.
Stetson walks ahead of me into the dark recess of the club, her ponytail swishing along with her hips; an air of confidence I know only comes out when she truly allows her most depraved self to come out and play. She looks like she owns the place—between her confidence and that villainous attire—and I quickly realize I’m not the only one to notice her. Eyes rake over her body with the hunger of a starved man, and I note each set of eyes for later.
I continue to follow a safe distance behind her, allowing her to have this moment—this power. Because my girl is the most beautiful woman in this place, and she deserves to feel that way. People can look at her and appreciate her beauty and presence. Who am I to deny them? But they will not have her. Every ounce of her attention will be mine, even if I have to force that from her.
She sidles up to the bar, her arm leaning against the rich wood, and signals for the bartender. He rushes over, as any man would in the presence of a goddess, and she orders a beer, whatever they might have in a glass bottle. I smile into the curve of my mask. You can take the girl out of the country, but you cannot take the country out of the girl .
Before another person can work up the courage to approach my dark queen, I make my move. You’d think after waiting six years for this moment, I might be nervous. But monsters don’t get nervous—they get even. And I plan to make her pay for every second we’ve spent apart.
Walking up to the bar, I rake hungry eyes over her curvy shape. She doesn’t turn and acknowledge me right away, but I know she can sense my presence. Her back stiffens, her neck growing long and defiant. If I were a betting man, I’d wager she’s overthinking every moment of this experience, right down to her choice of shoes, and berating herself for being so bold—a mixture of both fear and excitement coursing through her veins. And I know my little filly well enough to know that combination has her pussy clenching, wet, and hot with the need to be filled.
I wore all black tonight—black ripped jeans, a black t-shirt, a black hooded jacket, and a black mask that slashes angrily across my face, covering both of my eyes and over my left cheek to my jaw. The mask buries my eyes in shadows, and the hood is pulled tight over my curly hair—I might be the most underdressed man here, but I don’t give a fuck. Stetson isn’t into well-dressed men. She’s into dangerous men, and I know I look monstrous. I might be taking a risk; maybe she will recognize me.
But I do not care.
Being this close to her, I can smell her perfume, and see her pulse fluttering in that creamy soft neck. I’m a shark in blood-filled waters, and there’s no way I’m backing off the kill. I reach out my hand, my thumb brushing over her pulse, and she freezes, her eyes wide and sparkling behind the mask.
“Are you just going to stare?” she quips, all sass and attitude, and something about it makes my dick twitch. She’s so nervous and yet annoyed, and it’s adorable. I allow a sneer to rip across my lips, pulling the corners up.
“No. I’m going to fuck you.” My voice is a guttural sound, all smoke and fire, and the words burn as they leave my tongue. My cock now strains painfully against my jeans, the feeling of her hammering pulse beneath my touch enough to snap any remaining composure.
“Right here?” she asks, her tone coming out a little breathless. My sneer widens, teeth flashing at her, and her pulse quickens beneath my fingers. She’s terrified, but too curious to run. Stetson has never been one to back away from the things that scare her. Instead, she will lean into them to the point that she’s in control. She will match my forwardness, my curiosity, desire, and hunger, blow for blow.
“If you asked me to,” I state nonchalantly, my thumb pushing harder into her pulse, and she swallows. I would, too. I’d fuck her on this bar if she climbed up there right this second and begged me to, but I’d rather not share her tonight, even just with onlookers. I would do as she wanted, but I’d have to kill every person who watched, and that would get awful fucking messy.
Stetson looks around, clearly assessing the mood of the room and her other options. Which makes my blood boil, and the monster rears its ugly head. Maybe I wasn’t clear enough with my intentions—she has no other options, not tonight. Releasing her throat, I grab a hold of her ponytail and yank her head back. She hisses, but does not pull away. I know eyes are on us, some concerned, no doubt, but I don’t care. I fucking dare them to come and try to get between us.
“Maybe I wasn’t clear. I am going to fuck you. Here. Tonight. And I will spread that tight little cunt on this bar if you beg me to.” She sucks in a breath, her chest fluttering rapidly. “But I don’t like to share, and I’d much rather fuck you where I won’t have to kill every other person who sees what’s mine.”
She whimpers, the sound sending a spear of heat straight to my cock, but she doesn’t pull away, and she doesn’t say no.
Not that it would stop me.
She nods, just a small tilt of her head, and I let go of her hair, snapping into motion. Grabbing her arm, I steer us toward the back, where the private rooms are located. People watch as we pass, their eyes hungry, but they must know better than to stop me.