Chapter 6 #2
“What do you want with her?” Caleb’s voice tightens with suspicion as he steps fully in front of me, addressing the courier directly. “Are you a fucked up fan or something?”
I arch my eyebrow at the question. A fan? A former psychiatrist turned rebellious party girl isn’t something that naturally gathers fans of any kind.
The courier remains motionless, breathing steady through the filter of his mask. The continued silence seems to infuriate Caleb, whose hands curl into fists at his sides.
“Look, asshole, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you need to back off.” Caleb moves closer, invading the courier’s space. “She’s not interested. So why don’t you take your shit and get the hell out of here?”
Still nothing. No acknowledgment, no retreat, no change in posture. Just that deep breathing and the steadily extended arm. It’s as if Caleb doesn’t exist at all—as if the courier can see only me, and is programmed to complete only one task.
“Caleb,” I say, a note of warning in my voice. Something about the courier’s stillness triggers my professional instincts—the calm before a storm, the potential energy waiting to be converted.
Either Caleb doesn’t hear me or chooses to ignore my caution. This isn’t a street fight. It’s a duel. Something older, crueler, the kind of violence people used to offer gods.
He steps even closer, chest nearly touching the courier’s outstretched arm. “Are you fucking deaf? I said, get out of here.”
Ack nowledging Caleb’s presence for the first time, the courier tilts his head slightly. But his arm remains extended, the envelope still offered to me.
“That’s it,” he snaps, patience exhausted. His hand shoots out, shoving hard against the courier’s chest. “Get fucking lost—”
The courier’s free hand catches his wrist mid-shove, twisting it at an angle that makes the latter gasp in surprise. In the same fluid motion, the man steps to the side, using Caleb’s own momentum to unbalance him.
Caleb recovers quickly, yanking his arm free and lunging forward with a growl. His fist connects with the courier’s shoulder, but he barely flinches. Instead, he tucks the envelope inside his jacket with one hand while the other deflects the next punch with practiced ease.
“Stop!” I shout, but neither of them acknowledges me.
Bodies slam against the hallway walls. Caleb grapples for purchase, trying to use his weight against the slightly taller man, but the courier slips from his grasp like water through fingers.
They move down the hallway in a tangle of limbs, Caleb pushing forward, the courier redirecting rather than opposing. I follow them, heart hammering in my chest, torn between the need to intervene and the paralyzing knowledge that I don’t know how.
“Stop it!” I try again as they approach the stairwell door. “He’s not worth it!”
But Caleb is beyond hearing. His face is flushed with effort and anger, a vein pulsing at his temple as he drives the courier back another step.
For a moment, it seems like he might gain the upper hand—his fingers close around the other man’s throat, seeking purchase against the high collar of the leather jacket.
The courier’s gloved hands come up between Caleb’s arms with calculated precision, breaking the hold in a single outward motion. Before he can recover, the courier’s boot hooks behind his ankle, destabilizing him.
A sharp pivot, a controlled push against Caleb’s sternum, and suddenly the balance of power shifts completely. Caleb stumbles backward, arms windmilling as his body meets the stairwell door.
It swings open under his weight, and for one suspended moment, he hangs in the doorway, teetering on the edge of the top step. As the courier gives one final push, Caleb’s eyes widen in shocked realization as gravity claims him.
My scream tears through the hallway as he disappears from view. There’s a series of sickening thuds, punctuated by a grunt of pain, then a final, heavier impact as his body hits… something. The impact reverberates through the stairwell, bouncing off the walls as I stand frozen in horror.
“Caleb!” I lunge toward the stairs, but the courier’s arm extends across my path, not touching me but clearly blocking my way. I stare at him, incredulous. “Get the hell out of my way,” I demand.
Rather than letting me pass, he just stands there—breathing slow, mechanical, steady—until the silence between us curdles into something intimate, possessive, like the quiet belongs only to us.
“Please,” I beg. “Caleb needs help.”
The Trickster
Without a word, I push her backward, not stopping until her back connects with the wall. A soft oomph flows from her mouth. But instead of giving my Bride-to-be time to recover, I use my arm to pin her in place.
Though she can’t see my eyes through the mask, I feel as though she knows I’m peering into her storm-gray irises. Both her orbs are blown wide as she watches me remove the glove on my free hand, using only my teeth.
I drag my bare fingers along her cheek, savoring the feel of her clammy flesh. She doesn’t speak or move. She’s frozen in… not fear. It’s more like she’s suspended; held there between instinct and something darker.
When I researched her back in February, I never found any hints of Eve be ing attracted to darkness. But it seems my Little Bride has changed since losing her office space.
Not only is she fucking the likes of Caleb, which disgusts me, but she’s no longer working. Instead she spends her time doing whatever she wants whenever she wants to. It seems my intended punishment has turned out to be more of a reward.
“Who are you?” she asks, her tone unsure, but I still don’t sense any fear in her.
I trace my finger from her cheek to her sternum, following the soft centerline of her body like I’m reading it in braille.
When I find the swell of her breasts, I don’t grope or squeeze. I just skim down the valley between them, letting my fingers drag tension in their wake. Lower. Slower. Until I reach the waistband of her pants. Before she can react, I slip beneath the latex.
“What… no. Stop…” Her voice is thin, cracking in places. “Stop it,” she cries, thrashing like she actually thinks she can throw me off.
I already threw her boyfriend down the stairs like a deadweight. She’s got no chance. She swings at me, and I laugh. Then I catch both her wrists and pin them above her head.
When I press my palm against her pussy, I’m surprised to find her wet. Not just a little, oh no, my Bride’s fucking leaking for me like she’s already mine. The sound I let out isn’t quite a growl, but it’s close. The mask distorts it, making it mechanical and hungry.
“You’re wet.”
“N-no,” she whimpers, lying to me.
I press against her clit in slow, exact circles. “Lying is bad,” I rasp. “Are you a bad girl, Eve?”
Knowing she’s turned on makes my cock throb, thick and straining against my thigh, and I’m tempted to rut against her like a fucking animal. But I grind my teeth together, forcing myself to stay in control.
This is the perfect chance to learn how her body betrays her. And I’m not wasting the gift she doesn’t even know she’s offering.
“I said stop,” she whispers, but her voice has collapsed. There’s no authority in it.
I tilt my head. “You did,” I reply just as I push two fingers into her cunt. She moans quietly, and the sound vibrates down my spine, pooling hot and sharp at the head of my cock. “Louder,” I command. “Moan louder.”
“W-what?” she gasps, hips betraying her as they move into my hand.
I curl my fingers inside her, dragging along the top wall. “I want him to hear how good I make you feel. Sing for me.”
She shakes her head and keeps her mouth shut. Her body though? Her hips keep rolling.
I slam her wrists against the wall. “Don’t fucking disobey me,” I snarl. “I want him to know exactly what I’m doing to you. Scream for him.”
When she still refuses with a stubborn tilt of her lips, I fuck her harder with my fingers.
“Say it,” I growl. “Say how good I make you feel. Scream it loud enough for Caleb to choke on it.”
“F-fuck,” she cries. “Please…”
“No begging. Only moaning. Let him hear how your cunt welcomes me. Let him know I own it now.”
This time she moans prettily for me. And she does it loud enough for the sound to echo, undoubtedly reaching Caleb. Fuck, I hope he’s conscious. I hope he hears the slick sounds her cunt makes for me while she creams all over my hand.
“Oh, God,” she cries. Her pussy clenches around my fingers like it’s trying to drag them deeper—like it knows they’re just a stand-in for what should be there instead.
I chuckle. “There’s no God here. Only you and me.”
She tips forward into the rhythm, legs shaking, pussy clenching like it’s begging to be wrecked. I hold her in place, fingers buried deep, mask pressed to her skin, breathing loud through the vents.
She moans again; shaky, fragile. I twitch my fingers, and her whole body jerks like I’ve flipped a switch.
Then I fuck her with precision—two fingers dragging over every nerve like I’m rewiring her from the inside. Each thrust calculated. Each curl is brutal in its intention. I find the place inside her that makes her knees give out.
She shakes her head, wordlessly saying no, but her hips show me what she really wants. I grind my palm against her clit. Her breath breaks into pathetic, perfect whimpers that make my cock ache.
Mhmm, Eve’s close now. I feel it in the way her cunt squeezes tighter around me. She tries to fight it. She bites her lip, drawing beautiful droplets of blood that I long to taste. But I’m not ready to remove my mask.
The orgasm takes her hard, so violently her legs give out. I follow her down to the floor, fingers still pumping in and out of her molten heat. The sounds coming from her are nonsensical, and the few words she utters make no sense. Yet it’s fucking poetic.
When she’s nothing but aftershocks and ruin, I withdraw my fingers. The slick sound makes her flinch.
“You’re worthy,” I murmur, pulling the envelope from my jacket. I extend it toward her once more.
She stares at it like I’ve lost my mind. “Are you insane?” she seethes, trying to get up. “I don’t want anything from you.”
I shift and block the stairwell when she tries to move past me. She watches me like she doesn’t know what to think or do. But then she takes the envelope with trembling fingers.
“Good girl,” I murmur, the praise dark and mocking, before finally letting her run to Caleb’s side.