19. Death’s Door
19
DEATH’S DOOR
RIOT
Narcissists are so warped. It doesn’t matter that I won’t drop my final mask like he’s demanding, and it doesn’t matter that I’ll be the one fucking him harder than he’s ever been fucked before. Because Soren Sauder is the perfect narcissist. He has an uncanny ability to convince himself that, no matter the outcome or how much he has to suffer to get it, he wins. It doesn’t matter that I’m the clear victor. That I’m taking control. That I’m the one who is going to put him on his back and use him like a sex toy. He'll still convince himself he’s won because he got me to kill Brady.
Fortunately, my god complex rivals his narcissism, and I don’t need to convince myself I’m winning. I’ve already won, and I’m done fucking around.
He opens his mouth to spit more venom, but I have no more patience to listen to him. I push off the broken table, grab him by his swallowing throat, and spin him. His face cracks off the wall, and his feet crunch the table and Brady’s forearm.
“You never know when to shut your mouth, sweetheart.” I rip his open shirt off, discarding it like I want to discard my masks. I wish they were as easy to rip off. Soren fights me, but I’m too volatile to be moved now, so I pin him in place and spit on his ass crack. “Need me to gag you?”
When he bucks his ass back, trying to break free, it makes my cock hit his hole, sliding that spit all over his rim. “You’d miss my mouth as soon as you?—”
Reaching around his neck, I shove my fingers between his lips, pressing down on his tongue until he gags around them. “Better get ‘em wet if you don’t want to bleed. I’m over this stalling bullshit. You’re finally begging.”
“Like fuck!”
I gag him harder, pressing them all the way back to his throat. He slobbers all over my fingers, his body fighting mine at every turn. The sound he makes while he gags is better than his violin. My body bristles with need, eager and willing to take everything I can get from him now that we’re at a crossroads in our game. He’s no longer taunting the curse; he’s taunting me, just like I knew he would.
Ripping my fingers free, he coughs and starts to mouth me off. It switches to a harsh gasp when I shove two fingers in his ass with no warning. I don’t care if he bleeds. I want him to bleed. I need the evidence that I’ve ruined him, marked him, made him mine. I pump them hard, making him hiss and writhe in my grip.
His gasp turns into a disgusting laugh, and I love it even more than his gag. When he laughs, that’s when he’s most deranged, and a fucked-up Soren Sauder is my favourite kind of prize. “Ah, fuck you! Prep? I thought you wanted my hole bloody?”
My smile isn’t controllable. It’s messed up and distorted because, fuck yeah, I love it when he calls me out. No one matches my level of depravity like Soren does. When he laughs harder, I pull my fingers free, spread bloody spit all over my cock, and grip his hips so he can’t turn around. I don’t want him seeing whatever mask I’m wearing right now.
“Who knew Killian Hallows was a fucking pu?—”
I thrust once. Hard. Abrupt. All the way inside his tight hole. He spasms around me as his laugh temporarily dies off to make way for a pained groan. Power swells in my chest, travelling all the way down to my toes. It mingles with pleasure and a horrible satisfaction I don’t want to get used to.
“Where’d your laugh go?” I press in harder without ever having pulled out, the pressure on my cock so tight I crave the constriction. His body crumples forward, and my hands on his hips and his on the wall are all that hold him up. His legs shake, his forehead thumps forward, and he breathes through his teeth.
Time to bring him back to life.
I let go of his hips and wrap my fingers around his throat from behind. Pulling him off the wall until his back is against my chest, I graze my teeth over the shell of his ear. “Where are you, Soren? One foot in Hell or head in the clouds?”
He coughs to clear his throat, making his ass clench around my cock, his body moving to take some control back. His hips move forward, and I look down to watch my cock slide out of his ass all the way to the tip. Not bloody yet…
“With you at my back?” he asks, bracing his hands against the wall to get more leverage. “I’m in the goddamn gutter. Never sank so low before.”
Atta boy. I smirk behind him.
“Maybe you’ll end up with Brady.”
“Dare you to try.”
When I thrust forward, his laugh comes back. When I fuck him hard and fast, his laugh transcends into something like vile music, and when I growl against his nape, letting possession wash through me, he laughs to call me out on it. Then he breaks my fucking dick by slamming his ass back so hard I’m shoved backwards. My heel catches on Brady’s skull, and I fall to my ass, agitated and riotous to do something about it.
Soren doesn’t let me.
He plants his foot on my chest to pin me down. When I look up at him, I see everything about him that gave him his narcissist diagnosis. His unreasonably high sense of self, his attention-seeking behaviour, his lack of remorse, his gaslighting skills, and his need for admiration. He’s doing such a good job of hiding his vulnerabilities that I slump down, giving him control just to see what he’ll do with it.
“You don’t get to be behind me,” he snaps, straddling my body and lowering until his ass hits my thighs. “No one does.” He looks at my cock, slick and shiny. “You’ll fucking look at me while I fuck you. No more hiding.” He spits, but he doesn’t rub it in. He lifts up, lines up, and shakes his head at me as he lowers down. “It’s funny that you still think you’re winning.”
Goddammit. When I’m all the way inside him, on my back like a submissive bastard, I shake all over for three different reasons. One, because it feels so empowering to have him fuck himself on my cock. Two, because his eyes are on mine, degrading me and fucking me, using me and wanting me. Three, because this is the first time in my life I’ve been ridden. I’m so much of a control freak that I can’t even give it up in the bedroom with docile partners, but something about how he’s fucking my cock doesn’t feel like I’m losing the control. More like I’m taking it without him realizing it. It’s deceptive, which makes it sexy, and when I remember to breathe, it comes out as a raspy moan. I don’t want him to see my thought process, so I smirk at him, plant my hands beside Brady’s outstretched knee, and lift my ass off the floor to fuck him from the bottom.
Even the race to come is a competition. I’m conflicted about winning because I want to take pleasure from him without giving it in return, but I want to be able to gloat about getting him off. The tightness around my cock and the slick glide from so much spit is pushing me close to the edge, but it’s when he looks down at me with pure authority in his eyes that I have to clench all my muscles to prevent myself from ending this too early.
I’m on my back. He’s above me. It’s a power exchange I never thought I’d enjoy… but fuck, he looks good up there. He feels good there. So good I’m afraid I’m going to want it again and again. Can’t have that, so I sit up abruptly, wrap my arm around his back, and flip our positions until he’s flat on top of Brady’s thighs. Jesus Christ, this dead fucker is everywhere!
He laughs again, but it’s cynical this time. “I’m not fucking close enough,” he screams at me. “Take me closer!”
To death.
His legs wrap around my hips like he can force me to fuck him half to death. I grin and revel in it, thrusting into him and bringing my hands up between our bodies. Looking him straight in his energized blue eyes, I cinch his throat with both hands, press my thumbs to his windpipe, and dig my fingertips into his pulse points.
His face turns red almost immediately, but it’s not bothering me now. With his lips popped open and his hands clutching at my wrists, he smirks through his suffocation, eyes rolling back. A subtle nod accompanies his pleasure, and I nudge forward until he’s right between my legs.
“Tell me when you get close enough to knock.”
Using my grip on his neck, I fuck him for real. For the first time. Because everything before this exact moment has been a game. We’re not playing anymore; we’re chasing—a high, a darkness, a level of madness that only comes from glimpsing the afterlife. I thought I’d be his Grim Reaper, but instead, I’m his hellhound.
Everything about his body is tight. His muscles are clenched, making his ass squeeze my cock hard and unforgiving. I rock into him, barely noticing the dead kid’s shin bones beneath my own. When Soren’s fingers dig into my wrists even harder, I let up my thumbs to give him a single breath of air.
“Not yet,” he rasps. “Not close enough.”
The urge to kiss him whips through me ferociously. His slick lips and red cheeks are tempting, but his wide and almost afraid eyes are ecstasy. I slow my hips but deepen my thrusts, making Soren’s body slide over Brady every time I fuck into him. He moans, the sound coming out gagged and strained, and when I look at him again, he gives me the nod I’ve been waiting for. He’s there, ready to knock on Death’s door and slam it back in her face, and that’s a moment I want to taste.
I bend forward in a rush and slam my mouth against his as he ruptures into agonized bliss. He groans straight into my mouth, the taste of deliverance and desperation so potent it makes me shiver.
“Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Ahhh.” He lets go of my wrists to let me choke him harder, grabbing my ass to keep me buried deep inside him and gripping his own cock with the other hand. He strangles my cock like my hands are strangling him, and pleasure shoots up my spine to give me a head rush. “Fuck…” Between our bodies, his cum coats our abs. “I’m knocking,” he pants. “Don’t stop.”
I won’t stop, but my cock has no respect for his brush with Death. As he holds me still, only the constriction of his spasming ass adding a firm massage, I can’t hold myself back any longer. This is it, the moment he dreams about. Death and pleasure, the mingling of danger and desire, a desperate need so strong he’s been chasing it for half his life. Soren’s stifled moan sets me off, and I thrust my hips once, twice, and deepen the messy kiss as I fill his ass with cum. Because this is my moment, too. The one I dream about. The ability to leash a madman to my control and be the one to dictate his dance with mortality. It’s the power my ego craves and the authority I need to feel in charge.
“Oh, fuck,” I moan against his open lips as he nears death. I shiver and hold my breath, pumping my release into him so deep that he’ll be full of me for the rest of the night and all of tomorrow.
“Kill…” He bites my lip, and I’m barely coherent enough to release my grip on his throat. As soon as I do, he sucks in air, coughs right against my mouth, and then pulls my face to his to drag out the moment and take the air straight from my lungs.
This is different. It’s almost gratitude. Him thanking me for taking him to her door, and me thanking him for granting me this level of power. It’s so honest and raw that my cock pulses one more time, a trembling aftershock to my already explosive orgasm. It’s a fragile moment because it’s softness in a sense we don’t often show—it’s emotion expressed without a word spoken, like his music.
With one final kiss, I brace for it. The end.
He pauses, lips against mine and his eyelashes hitting my cheeks as he closes his eyes for a beat. One. Two. Three…
“Fuck off. You ruined it. You let go too early. I was knocking, but she hadn’t opened the door yet.” He pushes on my chest, but his sated eyes meet mine, and a split second of admiration beams at me from the depths of them. He wipes it away, secures his rickety cracks, and hides himself away for another day. Scrambling out from underneath me, my cock hangs wet and heavy over Brady’s dead body. Soren notices and kicks at my ribs, not wanting my cock that close to the kid I already killed for the same reason.
I slump back against the hall wall, and his legs give out, making him shuffle into a sitting position a foot away from me, leaning against the same wall. The house comes back into focus, the broken railing and hallway table, the gouges and holes in the drywall, and the lamp shining its bright light to illuminate the evidence of our cracked omens. We did this. Together. A game, a battle, sex. I’m almost too confused to feel proud. Until Soren opens his mouth…
“Fuck,” he laughs, elbows on his knees, Vile House tattoo rising with fast breaths as he leans over his legs. “Guess I win this round.”
My head snaps in his direction. “The fuck are you talking about? I clearly won.”
“How so? I got a dance with Death, and you gave it to me.”
“I fucked you.”
“I fucked you back.”
“My cum is in your ass.”
Soren grins. “And mine is coating your skin. I won, Riot. Admit it. Blink!” His smirk is so cocky it makes me want to smack him for using my words against me.
I’m Riot again, not Killian. I don’t know why that pisses me off. I didn’t purposefully put on any of my facades, but he noticed, and now he refuses to use my name. “Fuck, you are delusional if you think this means you won.”
Before he can say anything else, the front door opens and we both brace for… something. Monster walks in, looks at the two of us, naked, with no expression on his face, and then sighs when he sees the dead guy on the floor. The guy we were supposed to bring back to Director… Alive.
Monster shakes his head, grabs Brady’s ankle, and drags him back out the front door, slamming it and barely missing Brady’s head.
Director is going to be so pissed. But I laugh because of it. “I’ll win double when Director sends you to bottom rank for this. Worked so hard for second in line and now it’s gone with a good fuck and a brush with the devil.” I climb to my feet, my bare ass right in his face. “Knew you’d finally beg for it.”
“I didn’t fucking beg!” he screams at me.
Oh, he did. And he will again.