Chapter Twenty-Seven
Waiting
An alert dings on my cellphone. I flip it over and tap the banner notification, alerting me that someone’s been spotted. I touch my keypad to awaken my computer screen so I can see what’s on the camera on a larger scale.
Here comes the Grim Reaper. Let’s see how long it takes him to grow frustrated. I drum my nails on my maple desktop as he rings the doorbell. I can’t help but chuckle as he adjusts his manhood, clearly uncomfortable and needing a release.
This won’t take long.
He glances up at the camera in the corner and waves his hand in front of it. “Hello? I’m here.” A car horn beeps as they pass, making him glance over his shoulder. He stares at my closed door with a tight-lipped look, deep in thought.
I hold my breath as his hand balls up, and he reaches over to knock, but stops midway, thinking better of it, remembering my rule.
A puff of dust floats away from my computer screen as I exhale my held breath and uncross my legs, leaning forward and zooming in on his grimacing face.
Just a little longer.
He presses the bell again and scans the front yard and driveway before rechecking the address I gave him.
“Fuck it,” he finally says and steps off the porch.
Huh, I thought for sure I had that one.
He strolls away, tossing his Reaper robe hood off his head, making up his mind to leave.
Or so I thought.
He stops halfway down the sidewalk, and I pan the camera to his face as he cautiously turns toward my door. His mouth moves, but his words are indiscernible. Caught in an internal debate between what he wants and what he was told, he struggles to decide.
My desk chair squeaks as I rotate away from my computer, stand and make my way to the door with a spring in my step.
I lean against the wall beside it and wait, tapping my painted nails on my crossed arms. The floor vibrates beneath my feet as he hops back on the porch, and the door rattles with an irritated knock.
That’s a good boy. Come to mama.
I whip the door open and slide my right hand up the frame, cocking my hip sideways. “Tsk tsk.” I wag my finger at him. “You broke the rule.”
He reaches up, his Reaper robe sleeve sliding down, exposing a thorny tribal tattoo that wraps around his forearm, starting at his wrist and disappearing beneath his sleeve at the elbow.
His fingers lightly touch the skin of my raised hand and seductively travel from the base of my thumb to my armpit, sending goosebumps across my flesh like a wave crashing to shore, before dropping his hand casually beside him. “What are you going to do about it?”
I snatch his robe quickly, twisting the front of it in my grasp, and yank him harshly into the room before slamming the door and locking it behind me. He smiles playfully, backing up carefully as I stalk toward him. “I’m going to secure you to that altar behind you and torture you.”
His head pivots toward the elevated wooden altar, its surface lit by candles, with chains and leather cuffs dangling over the edges. My wood-burning fire crackles over his shoulder, sending bright orange embers up into the chimney and waves of heat into the room.
Mastyx is here. I can feel his warmth through the flames of the fireplace.
A few times, I’ve come home, and the fire was out, making my blood and body feel chilled to the bone.
The room feels vacant and lonely when the fire isn’t lit.
It’s our connection, mortal to immortal; his flame heats my flesh, igniting and fueling our contractual relationship. Without it, our bond may be severed.
There’s a slight hesitation in the Reaper’s mannerisms, in his movements, in his thoughts as he battles with his overwhelming desire to fuck me and the fear of me tying him down so he has no control.
He turns to me, wanting to question me further about my plans, so I do what I always do: make my offer irresistible.
I reach up to my throat and unsnap my cape, letting it fall silently to the floor, kicking it aside with my heeled foot.
Before he can open his mouth to speak, I grab the bottom hem of my vampire dress and pull it over my head, tossing my hair side to side before combing my fingers through my locks and resting them gingerly over my shoulder on one side.
His jaw drops open, hanging slack like it’s waiting for a fly to buzz in.
I run my thumbs along the inside seam of my red lace bikini underwear, tugging them slightly down, revealing a fading tan line from summer.
He approaches me with fire igniting in his eyes as he scans my body from my face to my toes and back again. “You’re so fucking hot.”
Hot? He has no idea what real heat feels like.
But he will.
I grab the zipper of his Reaper robe and tug it downward, listening to it click slowly, one tooth at a time, until it opens completely at the bottom, allowing him to pull it off, revealing his naked body underneath.
I drag my painted nails over his chiseled, tattooed abdomen from his sternum down to his happy trail, leaving bright red streaks, marking my territory before twirling my fingers in the pubic hair just above his rock-hard, sizable cock as he groans.
He pushes his outfit against mine on the floor, slides his palm behind my neck, pulling me in closer and plants a harsh kiss on my lips.
Does he think this counts as being rough?
How boring.
I grab his face with both hands, crushing his cheeks with my palms and thrust him backward into the altar. He quickly grasps the wooden edge, stopping himself from falling to the black fuzzy rug beneath his feet. “Oh, we like it really rough, do we?”
My hand thrusts against his cock, gripping his shaft tightly as I squeeze and stroke it. His body bends back as he perches on his tiptoes, trying to escape my iron grip to no avail. “Easy now. Don’t rip it off,” he pants with heavy breaths as his ass slides up and across the surface of the altar.
“Lie down,” I order, releasing my hold on him.
He does as he’s told, as I reach out my hand to my Wiccan altar table at the top of the altar and gently stir the small batch of candy corn, still warm and melted in the copper Tree of Life-handled pot resting above a tealight candle.
It swirls beneath my wax-seal spoon, its consistency smooth and ready to use.
“What’s that?” he asks, sitting up on his elbows and trying to look behind him.
I press his forehead back against the altar with my pointer finger and rest my painted nail against his lips. “Shhh.” I walk my fingers across his chest and down his arm. “Have you heard of wax play?” I ask as I gingerly grab his wrist and tighten the first restraint around it.
His eyes light up at the thought. “Oh, hell yeah. It’s my jam.”
Aren’t I the lucky one?
I sway my head, moving it side to side to the quiet music of Bryce Savage playing in the background, humming along to Curiosity as I mosey to the opposite side of him and seize his wrist. He yanks back, pulling my hand against his chest and holding it there. “Don’t hold back. I live for this shit.”
As he releases my hand, a broad and sinister grin spreads across my face as I giggle and say, “Oh, don’t worry, darling, once I begin, you will beg me to stop.”
He chuckles as I grip his ankle and smirk at a tiny broken heart tattoo peeking just above his low-cut socks.
Using the end of the altar for support, he kicks off his sneakers, letting them drop to the floor with a thud.
I reach for his socks, and he pulls his foot away from me.
“I got this.” He takes his big toe, curls it inside the top of his sock, peels it off, and then repeats the same process with the other toe.
“Spread your legs wide,” I say, planting both my palms on his thighs and tugging them harshly apart.
He gasps as I wrap the leg restraint around his ankle, then glide over to the other one and do the same.
I stare at him briefly before walking to the head of the altar and tossing a strap across his forehead, securing it to the other side, and forcing his head flat against the table, keeping him from moving.
His chest rises and falls rapidly as I shimmy out of my underwear and climb onto the altar, straddling his legs and pinning them down as I rub my bottom lip with my fingertip before tracing my finger down the front of me, my hand disappearing between my legs.
I rub my pussy, moaning and rocking on his bare legs, feeling the moisture inside me building as I close my eyes and pleasure myself.
He shifts beneath me, and I force my eyes open, gazing down at him as I remove my fingers from inside me and slide them into my mouth. “Mmm, do you want to taste me?” I ask, my throat humming.
He nods rapidly. “Oh, fuck yeah,” he says, opening his mouth wide.
I plant my hands firmly on his chest and scoot my pussy lips across his cock, inching my way over him, leaving a trail of moisture in my wake, until my ass sits almost on his neck, before lifting my body and lowering myself down on his face.
His tongue plunges inside me, sending lightning through my thighs as it twirls about searching for the juices it longs for.
I rock into his face, rubbing my clit across his nose as I lean fully forward, reaching for the handle of the pot above his head.
I bring the hot candy corn closer, resting it just above his scalp on the altar as I slide backward off his face.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his face glistening. “I want you to bust in my mouth.”
I grip his cock tightly, stroke it and press it inside my pussy, forcing its entire length into me.
His eyes roll back as I rock into him hard and relax, hard and relax, hard and relax until I feel the tell-tale tingle of my orgasm racing to the surface.
“It’s coming. Close your fucking eyes and open wide,” I say as I continue rocking.
His eyes pinch close, and his mouth flies open, waiting to receive my pussy juices.
I sit on his face, letting him taste me.
It’s something that I usually don’t allow.
Mastyx is the only one who is allowed to taste me—to eat me.
But I’m caught up in the moment and press my luck, trying to have another man taste my pussy juices for the first time.
I slide off his face, his lips, and the area around his mouth, glistening with my fluids, his mouth still hanging open with a smile.
I grip the pot of hot candy corn, plug his nose, and pour it into his open mouth.
His eyes fly open as he tries to scream, but the molten candy bubbles in his throat, choking out his cries for help as it slowly begins to harden.
I rest the pot back above his head, and lean forward, grabbing my wooden candle wick and plunging it in the center of his orifice, holding it there gently as it dries around it.
Tears drain down both sides of his face as his body trembles beneath me.
I grin broadly and say, “Now, you be a good boy and hold still. This will only hurt for a moment.” I release the wick, grab my Jack Skellington Zippo from my table, and light the wick as I stare into his eyes, blown wide open in shock as he suffocates.
My pussy swells and tingles as I drop the Zippo and rub my clit in a circular motion, bursting onto his face as I cry out, “Oh, Mastyx, my incubus, I fucking need you. I call you here on Halloween night, beneath the light of the full moon. Come to me, my lover, accept this offering as a symbol of my devotion.”
The fire flickers higher and brighter as my lover receives my message from the pits of hell.
I grab the wax spoon, plunge it into the thickening candy corn, close the dead and empty eyes of the Reaper beneath me, and pour a spoonful onto each of his eyelids.
A bubble rises and pops in the pot as I rest the spoon inside and pick up my wax stamp, pressing its golden end evenly into each of the Reaper’s eye sockets, leaving the impression of a rose with a half skull peeking from its stem.
I rest the stamp beside the pot of candy corn and smile down at my masterpiece—candle flickering inside his mouth, eyes sealed closed, soul ready to take when my lover makes his appearance.
I’ve had this planned for months, telling Mastyx that this night will be something special I’ve put together just for him, and I can’t wait for him to see.
The flickering flame inside the Reaper’s mouth gives me another idea for a future art display.
A jawbone candle holder. Yes, that will be lovely.
I swing my leg off the man beneath me and lower myself to the floor.
It’s funny how the sight of a dead man in the middle of my living room never gets old—another benefit of having no front windows.
I shrug and saunter to my double bedroom doors, throwing them open and rattling their transparent windows.
My fingers glide across my black satin comforter as I crawl across its cool surface, lie face down, and close my eyes with a smile.