13. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The flickering candlelight in the mirrored ballroom fucks with my head as I walk in, the silk robe brushing against my skin. Not to mention the suffocating sensation beneath the mask.

My mask.

The one that once made me feel invincible, untouchable—now it grips my face like a vise, trapping me, making each breath harder, shorter. The edges of the black and gold skull dig into my skin, a reminder of who I used to be when I wore it. The man who controlled every gaze, every touch.

But here . . .

Fuck, here I'm not sure who I am anymore.

The room stretches endlessly—mirrors line every wall. And there's an audience, all standing in neat rows, masked and silent. Their eyes—if they even have eyes—follow my every step as Adrian leads me to the center of the ballroom.

His touch is possessive, and a reminder I'm not the one in control. My pulse quickens as he unties the robe, letting it fall to the floor. I'm naked beneath, my cock already half hard. My hands twitch, desperate to cover myself.

"Leave them by your sides, Jasper. They want to see."

"Kinky bastards."

He quirks a brow and I shrug, hoping to hide the way my heart pounds so hard I feel it in my throat.

Adrian takes one step closer, his fingers brushing my shoulders. He's dressed in black again, still hiding behind his mask. "I want you to remember that no matter what happens, no matter what you feel, this is what you want."

"Is it?"

He nods. "There's no difference between here and the clubs you frequent."

"Yeah, no. There's a difference. The crowd didn't watch me come apart."

"And you admitted it was getting stagnant. That's one of the reasons you accepted my invitation, was it not?"

My upper lip twitches. Hate when the asshole's got a point. The vulnerability, the exposure—it's all part of the game.

The thrill.

He grips my chin, turning my face to the crowd. "You're going to perform for them. You're going to show them what a filthy little whore you are."

My cock twitches, now fully erect.

"On your knees, Jasper."

I hesitate for a moment, a spark of defiance flaring in my chest. But then I kneel, the cold stone of the platform biting into my skin.

Adrian unzips his pants and pulls out his cock. He reaches down, cupping my chin in his hand, tilting my head up so I'm looking at him. "Open your mouth."

I do as I'm told, my heart thundering as he rubs the tip against my lips, smearing salty precum across my skin before pushing inside, filling me with his hot, hard flesh. I suck him greedily, my tongue swirling around his shaft, my cheeks hollowing out as I take him deeper.

He groans, his fingers tangling in my hair as he fucks my mouth. "You're not in control now, are you, whore? No, you're just a greedy cumslut. Suck me deeper."

My cock twitches and throbs, and I moan around his length as his hips move in a fast, punishing rhythm.

"You're such a mess. A filthy, sloppy mess. Isn't that right?"

I nod as I gag, taking what he gives. Wet, vulgar sounds fill the room as he thrusts deeper, harder. My hands grip his thighs, my hips bucking into the air matching the rhythm he's fucking my face.

"Such a greedy whore, sucking my cock, trying to get my seed." His voice is low, dangerous, raspy. Then he pulls out, his cock glistening with my saliva, and looks down at me. His eyes are dark and hungry, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Now turn around. Show them that pretty little ass."

I shift on my knees until my ass faces the audience, then I bend forward, my elbows against the floor. It's humiliating, degrading. Yet my cock has never been harder.

Adrian spreads my cheeks, exposing my hole. I clench reflexively, my face burning as I focus on the floor. But Adrian doesn't give me time to dwell on my embarrassment.

When he spits on my hole, I moan, the sound low and guttural, echoing through the room.

"Your tight little asshole's twitching. It wants to be fucked." He slaps my ass hard, the sting radiating outward, then he grabs my hips and turns me sideways. "The greedy little whore needs his ass filled, doesn't he?"

"Y-yes."

He spits on my hole again, then pushes inside, his thick cock stretching me open. It burns, fucking hurts. Saliva is no substitute for lube. I cry out as he starts fucking me like a feral beast, my hands scrabbling against the cold platform as I try to hold on.

"Adrian, slow down. It hurts."

He responds by slamming into me again, his cock driving into my body with a force that leaves me breathless. The pain and pleasure blur together until I can't tell where one ends and the other begins.

"Look at them. Look at how they're watching you. They want you. They want to see you come undone."

I glance sideways toward the audience, their gazes fixed on me. I feel their desire, their hunger. And it's turning me on.

"You like this, don't you? You like being fucked like a little whore in front of all these people."

I push back to meet his thrusts, my eyes fluttering closed. "Yes, yes. Fuck. Yes."

But the hands on my body—they're not just Adrian's anymore. They're cold, rough, scratching at my skin like claws. I try to pull away and escape the sudden onslaught of sensation, but Adrian's grip on my hips is too tight.

"Going to fuck you until your hole is gaping. Then I'm going to show it to them. Let them spit inside it."

I'm panting, my dick throbbing and leaking. My eyes open, and that's when I see it—the thing from the mirrors, standing at the back of the room. It isn't just a shadow this time. It's solid, real, its eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my blood run cold.

My heart stutters, but I can't look away. "What the fuck—"

Adrian wraps his hand around my cock, stroking me in time with his thrusts, cutting off my words. "Fuck into my hand. Do it. Show them how desperate you are. What a whore you are."

A sob escapes me, muffled behind the mask, but the sound is there, humiliating and raw. I'm a fucking mess, panting and whimpering as I do what he wants. The figure is still there, still watching, like it's peeling away the last layers of whatever I have left—my pride, my dignity, my fucking soul.

"You're going to come for me. Right here, in front of them. You're going to come like the broken little whore you are."

"Adrian . . . Adrian." My eyes grow wet as the pressure builds inside me, a deep throbbing ache that starts in my balls, then spreads outward, consuming every inch of my body. Adrian rubs his thumb over my slit and I clench around his cock.

I scream, the sound raw and primal, echoing through the room as the pressure releases. It isn't like any orgasm I've ever had before. It's deeper, more internal, like something is being ripped out of me.

A wave of fluid gushes out, hot and wet, splattering onto the platform beneath me. It isn't cum—it's something else. The relief that follows is overwhelming, but it's wrong, so wrong.

Did I just piss myself? My face burns and I close my eyes, trying to forget about the audience.

But Adrian isn't done. He keeps fucking me, becoming more brutal. He shoves his fingers in my mouth, forcing me to suck them, to gag on them, to taste whatever came out of my body.

The tears finally fall, and when I open my eyes, the only peace I have is the figure is gone. But the audience is still there, still watching with a detached indifference that makes my skin crawl.

"That's it, Jasper. This hole was made for me. Fuck, Jasper. Take it." Adrian slams deep one last time, grunting as he releases. Then he pulls out slowly, kissing the back of my neck like he's comforting me after ripping me apart.

My legs give out and I collapse to the floor, trembling, spent, a sob catching in my throat. My skull mask digs into my skin, suffocating me, choking me, but I don't have the strength to remove it.

Not yet.

Adrian helps me to my feet, his arm wrapped around my waist, supporting me as I sway unsteadily. "You'll understand soon."

I don't want to fucking understand. I just want to be me again—whoever the fuck that was. But he's gone.

Lost.

Shattered into a thousand pieces.

And I don't know if I'll ever get him back.