Chapter Seven
CHAPTER SEVEN
BONNIE
I fucking love this.
Every body slamming and brushing against me makes my heart skip. I’m waiting for her hands to slide around my waist—for her chest against my back. Anticipation laces every passing second. Smoke hazes around me as I close my eyes to the steady beats. Hands lightly graze my hip a few times—just another person moving through the crowd. I scan the area for her again.
However, I don’t have to search long.
Because I can feel those sharp studs brushing against my back and my hips when the next body eases behind me, and I practically sink into her grasp as her hands creep around my waist. I shove my hair over to one side, tilting my head not just to allow her access to the crook of my neck, but also so I can see a glimpse of her masked face, make sure it’s her who’s touching me.
When I catch the neon pink lines in my peripheral and see her red hair swish over her shoulder, I succumb entirely.
A groan leaves me at her touch—at the desperate way I’ve been dreaming about a night like this these past few months. I don’t need to see her face to know how every inch of me is weeping with this close contact, this nameless, faceless game.
God fucking yes.
How do I simultaneously slow this down and speed through to the climax in the same breath?
Shit, I think I could come just from this. It’s been so long that I’m already throbbing. Her body moves with mine, hands somehow pressing my hips further into hers.
Song after song plays. I’m losing track of time and space, running out of fucks to give. I close my eyes and brace my hands against hers, moving them where I’m aching to be handled—across my stomach, cupping my tits— shit .
A shaky breath leaves me at how perfectly she squeezes my petite breasts. My shoulders draw up. My mouth sags. I tilt my head back onto her shoulder and entirely lean into her embrace. And when she slides one hand down my stomach again, fingers treading beneath the open waistband of my jeans to brush my mound, I jerk.
There’s a soft little chuckle in my ear that makes my hair stand. However, before I can comprehend that sexy little noise behind what’s definitely a voice changer, a glimpse of neon red catches my attention.
Zeb.
He’s standing a few feet away, a solid figure in the midst of dancing bodies. I know he’s checking in to make sure this person is the one I want touching me, ensuring I’m not drugged, drunk, high, or in any way inebriated or harmed.
I lift my pinky and thumb, then move my hand in a shaking motion—a sign he and I have adopted onstage just to ask if the other is okay.
He nods discreetly, then signals it back before pivoting into the crowd and disappearing.
My stranger doesn’t seem bothered by him, though the exchange is so quick, I doubt she noticed. I’m drawn back into her void, the rest of the room melting away with one grasp of her hand on my waist.
“Fuck,” I barely hear myself whisper.
I need this situation off the dance floor before I let her finger fuck me in front of everyone—not that anyone here would care.
Still…
I enjoy being in charge when I meet groupies after a concert. I enjoy fulfilling their fantasies of fucking a band member. Still, sometimes I just need a release without expectations, the chitchat, or an autograph after.
Dating apps can’t give me this.
Picking up someone after a show can’t give me this.
This… this is the numbness and dissociating euphoria I once saw at the bottom of the bottle, the edge of a blade, and the backs of my eyes. And maybe all I’m doing is more self-harm…
But fuck, this feels good.
I spin in her arms, and this close, my heart begins to race. My hands hit her chest as she draws me flush. These studs… I’m sure I’ll have marks on me from them tomorrow, and I might get the indentions tattooed.
Her half-mask nudges my cheek as her hand lands on my neck, the other arm securing us in place. I need this obstacle out of my way. I want to kiss her. I want to bury myself in this moment and forget my name, my past, and all my fears.
“What can I call you tonight?” I ask.
Her head moves in the mildest shake, and she twists the thong on my bodysuit around the hand she has on my hip, then tugs the fabric so that it creases between my cheeks. The slightest bit of pressure makes me groan, and I feel my shoulders droop.
“No names,” she rasps. She bends lower and nudges my cheek again. “Just this.”
“Let me taste you,” I breathe, begging her to take this suit off her face. “Please. Let me…”
My open mouth trembles against her mask, her hands tighten on my hip and my throat.
Touch me. Hurt me.
“She begs.” She chuckles. “Now I want you even more.”
Shit, this voice. I press my hands to her cheeks and kiss the mask, breath catching when her thumb rakes over my bottom lip.
I need her.
I need more .
I curl my fingers at the top of the half-mask and peer at her shadowed, covered eyes.
“Please,” I beg, tugging on it gently.
Her body tenses slightly, fingers creasing on my hip, my jaw.
“Ask again,” she tells me.
The sound makes the hair on the back of my neck stand.
“Let me take this mask off,” I say, my request more clear this time. “Let me one step closer to actually kissing you.”
Something about her has me ready to fall to my knees were she to ask it of me.
“Is that what you want?” she asks. “You want to kiss me?”
I drag my tongue up the front of her half-mask. “Babygirl, I want to fuck you,” I say. “I want to taste this sweet little cunt,” I breathe, practically making out with the mask at this point. “I want to black out from coming on your tongue and scream loud enough someone sends security to check in on us.”
She snickers again and wraps both arms around my waist, bending me slightly as if it’s a reminder that she’s the one in control of this situation.
“You’re right about one thing,” she says.
“Which part?”
“You’ll certainly be coming on my tongue.”
Please fucking kiss me.
I’m desperate.
I’m so desperate that I don’t wait for her to say anything else. I peel away the voice changer despite knowing the moment it’s gone, she won’t say another word. And when there’s only fabric and sequins between us, I close the gap between our mouths and kiss her hard.
Her lips part behind them as I wrap my arms around her neck, one hand on her cheek, moaning as I feel her double-pierced tongue raking against mine. It makes me whimper, makes me scrunch my fingers against the material at her cheeks as if I can claw my way to her.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I eventually manage.
She nods, and I don’t hesitate to take her hand into mine and drag her toward one of the trailer bathrooms.
It’s like a fucking maze. I have half a mind to push her against one of the walls if I can find a vacant place. However, I’m so greedy for this that the threat of being caught will hold me back from fully enjoying every drawn-out second. I don’t want this hurried. I don’t want some security guard with a flashlight finding us.
I want her on her knees, licking my pussy until I can’t see straight.
At a random corner, she tugs at my hand and pulls me into her. I nearly trip on my own boots as she secures me in her arms, and I cave when her masked mouth meets mine.
Shit, I wish she would let me really kiss her.
I slide my hands up her stomach and pause to palm her full tits. Goddamn it. How do I get her out of this? I tug on the suit and groan against her mouth, but her hands lace harshly around my wrists. She pulls them behind my back as if letting me know I’m not getting my way tonight. And as she holds my wrists with one hand, she pushes me into the wall of one of the trailers and dives her other hand between my thighs.
Fuck .
My knees weaken at her digits stroking my clothed cunt. I hike my leg up, begging her to slip those fingers beneath the fabric. Her touch isn’t delicate. It’s demanding, requiring my attention—almost punishment-like in nature.
Hell fucking yes.
Bruise me. Choke me…
A door opens nearby. We part, our heads turning, and I pull out of her grasp to launch us up the steps and into the brightly lit restroom.
The door latches with a snap. I jump into her arms and latch my legs around her waist. The force catches her off guard, yet still, she catches me. A slap hits my ass. I jerk and moan, tilting my hips into her at the pleasure trailing behind that pain. The vibrating thumps of the music sound like a distant memory, and when she tosses me onto the sink so recklessly that I wince, all thought of the world outside the door disappears.
Everything about this is brutal. Unrelenting. Sweaty. Wet…
I’m fucking wrecked.
She reaches for her mask and pulls it back up, and the moment I hear her heavy breath in my ear, I close my eyes and rest my head against the mirror. My thighs squeeze around her waist, sharp breath sucking between my teeth as I feel her palms on my tits.
“Tell me again,” she whispers, her thumbs brushing over my nipple rings.
“ Fuck —fuck me,” I beg as I tuck my heels behind her thighs. “Please. Take whatever you want. Just touch me. Fuck me.”
God, I sound pathetic.
But all I want is to be used like a fucking ragdoll right now.
Another snicker leaves her. “You’d better find a blindfold then,” she says as her hand drags down my stomach to my center.
I’m breathing so heavily that I can hardly think, rolling my body and grinding into her grasp as if my motions might get her to touch me faster.
“I can close my eyes,” I say, my voice coming out more desperate than I meant it to.
“Try again,” she whispers as the tips of her fingers meet my pussy. “Tick-tock, pretty girl.”
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
My long sleeve catches the corner of my eye. It’s a cheap bodysuit. The arms are made out of flimsy material. It’ll probably rip—
It’s also my favorite bodysuit. However, I’m willing to sacrifice it for, what I fucking hope, is some mind-blowing sex right now.
“Wait—”
She pulls back as I take my pointed thumbnail and rip a hole in the stretchy fabric, pulling as hard as I can. The sleeve shreds around my arm, and within seconds, I’m holding it out for her to take like an eager puppy desperate to please.
Touch me.
Please. Fucking. Touch. Me.
She takes the sleeve and wraps it around her hands, tugging and testing it out, even holding it up to her eyes to test the opacity. I incline my head in her direction.
“Please,” I breathe.
I wish I could see if she was smirking about this.
She doesn’t speak, not even when she stretches the fabric around my head and knots it tight. I pull my own mask’s chains from over my eyes so that they’re not between my face and the fabric. And when she tugs on the knot, making me move with the motion, I feel her take a step back.
I don’t like how cold it is in her absence.
“How many fingers am I holding up, Pretty?” she asks.
“It better be the two you’re going to fuck me with,” I reply.
She chuckles again, and I feel her warmth between my legs once more. “Three,” she whispers against my cheek.
Her breath skirts across my skin, and I realize her mask is off. Her mask is gone—
I think a pitiful little cry leaves me in the second before her bare lips press to mine.
There’s something otherworldly about getting fucked without knowing who’s behind the mask, even more so when you’re blindfolded. And something about her… god, something about her has me fucking high.
The two tongue rings make my knees weak. The press of her hands against my cheek and jaw sends chills down my spine. She’s kissing me as if she’s starving, and I can’t say that I’m any less feral as I squeeze her full breasts. A low vibration sounds in the back of her throat that makes me smile.
“Take this off, and I’ll really make you moan,” I say against her mouth.
Her response is a bite to my bottom lip, and the action makes me grin.
Her fingers move to my throat, the other hand trailing down my front to toy with my peaked nipples. My head hits the mirror again as I relax entirely, knees hiking in a desperate attempt to get her to touch my soaking pussy.
She bends to suck my clothed nipple, almost entirely taking my petite tit into her mouth. I have to grab onto the counter lip to remain steady. Shit… my pussy is throbbing— aching .
Touch me.
An unrecognizable noise leaves me when she slides two fingers along my clothed cunt.
She has to know how much she’s making me lose my mind… right?
My answer comes in the curl of her lips and a nip at my breast as she shifts the fabric and finally… finally … sinks a finger into my wet center.
“Fuck yes,” I breathe out.
My hips arch into her hand. She teasingly unsnaps the bodysuit and runs her thumb over my clit. The slight pressure has me drawing a staggering inhale. The ribs and seams on her glove are a sensation I wasn’t expecting, but one I’m sure as fuck not complaining about. Not with the way she’s toying with me, her middle finger pumping in and out of me in steady, dragging motions designed to make me weak.
Her lips unexpectedly meet mine again. Her fingers latch once more around my throat. I gasp, mouth agape, at the sudden tightness. I can’t breathe, and I’m not sure I want to. Her tongue rakes against mine. My whimper comes out in staggering, pathetic hiccups. The pleasure of her fingers, the thin air, the stars behind my eyes… Fuck, it’s so much. I’m trembling, my orgasm building and building and building alongside a dizzying spell—
Sharp breath fills me with the relief of her tight grip. She pulls her fingers from within me so abruptly that I mewl at the emptiness. I want to come. I bring my hand to my breast, squeeze hard enough to bruise, and blindly touch my clit. Anything to satiate that need, to tempt her in to finishing—
She grabs my wrist, slaps my cheek, and thrusts her other hand around my throat so quickly that I’m left aghast at the motions. My head hits the mirror hard enough to crack it. The pain elicits a smile, my lips tugging upward, and I lean forward in the hopes I might catch her tongue with mine.
“Do that again, I like it,” I tell her.
Her response is to squeeze my throat. I’m lightheaded and nearing delirium. I need her tongue between my thighs, so much so that I chance reaching for her face and pushing her down.
“Please,” I beg. “Taste me.”
She loosens her grip and gently pats my cheek twice as if approving my plea.
And when I feel her body heat leave me, realizing she’s sinking onto her knees, I cover my face with my arm and incline my head toward the ceiling in surrender. She pulls my baggy pants with her, the fabric pooling at my booted feet before she discards them on the tile floor. The chill of the room pricks my skin—
Someone bangs on the door.
“Fuck off!” I yell.
“I need to shit!” the person shouts back.
“Dig a fucking hole then— Oh god …”
I have to grip the sink to keep from falling on my face, knees lifting toward the ceiling at the first suck of her mouth on my clit. She doesn’t waste any time devouring me. Sound evacuates my ears. I’m numb to the pleasure of her and only her.
Holy fuck.
I think the person outside says something else, yet I don’t catch it. My fingers sink into my hair and pull, practically ripping at the wig. It tears off, the blindfold skewing, but I straighten it back without ever opening my eyes.
I don’t care to know who this woman is. I’ll stay blindfolded until she tells me I can see the light of day again. I don’t need to see her face when her tongue is dragging up my pussy like this, the two tongue ring balls hitting my center perfectly.
Something wet drips down my cheek as I try not to flail uncontrollably from the rapture.
Am I fucking crying right now?
The bottom of my ass is bruising against the rim of the sink, the faucet curved along my spine. Every muscle within me is tight, tense at trying to hold myself together and not lose my balance. Sharp fingernails rake my thigh, and I realize she’s taken her left glove off as if the seemingly whetted nails piercing my skin might be enough to keep me under her control, to remind me who’s in charge.
Shit, her tongue is magic.
I try to hold off my orgasm each time it rises. She feels too good, and I don’t want her to stop. I don’t know if she delights in multiple orgasms, and I’m not ready to chance her being done with me. Even still, the build is pressing so forcefully on my body that I feel like I’m about to combust. My moans and whimpers turn to cries and shrieks. I can’t take this. I can’t hold on.
Oh god—
The explosion shatters me entirely. I squirt on her tongue, my pussy gripping around her gloved fingers as I come and come. She keeps pumping through it, riding out my orgasm and extending it long enough that I start to jerk and claw at her wig and my own neck for some kind of relief. I sniff back tears and mutter something incomprehensible as she slows to a near-excruciating tease, lapping at my cum and draining me of whatever ounce of sanity I might have left.
Something scratches on the floor. I feel her body heat once again, and I suck in a breath when she hovers close enough that her breasts brush against mine. She settles between my legs and leans forward, the tips of her fingers digging hard into my thighs. Her breath skims my cheek, and my chest caves when her wet tongue licks my tears from the leather mask.
I gulp back the lump in my throat. “Tell me your name,” I manage, still dizzy from the state she’s put me in. Her heat disappears for the briefest moment, and the next thing I feel is her untying the blindfold.
Amber light hits my eyes. I open them to find her back in her full mask, including the half-mask over her mouth. Light reflects off the studs on her bodysuit. I’m so high on her bliss that I barely realize I’m leaning into her until my lips press to her mask once again.
Her quiet chuckle fills the air.
She drags her gloved finger through my now visible, very messy, blonde hair and pushes it behind my ear, head tilting in a taunting way.
“I knew I would love the way you taste, rockstar.”
She sounds like velvet—soft and coy, sexy and yet, bristling. Somehow, her voice is more distinct now that I’m not clamoring for an orgasm. Fuck, that sound is going to haunt my dreams, the words repeating over and over in my mind. Chills rake over my exposed skin, prickling the cool sweat—
Wait .
The haze around me vanishes like a bucket of ice water has just been dumped over my head. I’m suddenly seeing clearly for the first time all night. My heart skips, my stomach dropping to my still aching cunt. The walls feel as if they’re closing in, and the sound of the thumping music is little more than a buzzing in my numb ears.
She can’t…
What did she just call me?
“What?” I breathe, though the words sound like they belong to someone else.
Her laugh sounds from beneath the mask once more. I can’t take my eyes away from the bodysuit, the red wig, the way she’s creasing her fingers on my thighs in a claiming way.
How did she recognize me?
She reaches her gloved hand to my cheek, and this time, I suck in a jagged, unexpected breath. The brush of her fingers ignites my skin. I swear the air is somehow thinner knowing she isn’t just some stranger.
It’s her.
It’s fucking her .
My goddamn stalker.
God, I can’t breathe.
Is that cold sweat on my forehead? Why is the room spinning?
It’s her .
“Did you think I wouldn’t know you in this pitiful little excuse of a costume?” she asks deliberately, twirling my hair around her finger.
I don’t know how to reply.
Because somewhere buried deep within me is an excitement brewing beneath the fear, and I wonder if I was hoping for this. The thought of her being in the crowd never even crossed my mind tonight even though I should have known it would be a perfect opportunity.
Though, I can’t say it would have stopped me from doing exactly this.
It’s her.
God, it’s her.
She leans closer, and air wholly escapes me as I close my eyes. The points on her mask rake over my cheek, the scratch making the hair on the back of my neck stand. My mouth drops. I inhale her scent, hoping to catch something distinguishable, yet it’s masked by sex and sweat.
Still, somewhere in my memory, I remember cinnamon. Passed out in the passenger seat, the hum of the sports car engine vibrating beneath me.
I haven’t been this close to her since that night.
“My Bedlam… I’d know you in complete darkness,” she tells me. “The smell of your hair, the shape of your body, the grip of your fingers, the way you sway your hips… You’re mine, Rockstar. All mine. No one will ever know you the way I do.”
I try to gulp down the lump in my throat, but I’m paralyzed.
Because I know she’s right about at least one thing: she does know me better than anyone else.
If my dead body was mangled and lying in a morgue, she’d be the only true person able to identify me. It might be by a fraction of skin, a strand of hair, a single nail… She has me memorized. I’m imprinted on her soul just as she is on mine, as sick and dark and twisted as that reality might be.
I should be running, pushing her away, shouting for help, and screaming danger.
Yet, it’s all I can do to draw my next breath.
“I’ll be seeing you,” she whispers.
And as she releases me, as she turns and stalks her way to the door, leaving me sitting on the cold bathroom counter spent and confused and sweating with arousal and horror, I try to keep myself steady, to not shake and bend and break the way my insides want to.
Did I seriously just fuck my stalker?