Chapter 17

If he seriously thinks licking me with his modified tongue is a form of punishment, he's crazier than I thought. I just hope for his sake that the warmed wax he is currently pouring near his tongue is non-toxic. Then again, if it's not, maybe the gods or Satan, whoever watches over me, is looking out so he will croak a slow, painful, death centered at the one place he was always pining to be…my pussy.

Talk about poetic.

I close my eyes, settling into the warring sensation he creates at my center. The separated pieces of his tongue heighten my every sense, making me feel like my body is succumbing to the devil himself and in this moment, with his mouth devouring me, I want nothing more.

With each lap of his forked tongue, it feels like there are two of him circling my clit, competing with one another, causing a fucking inferno of pleasure like I've never experienced before to burn through my spine.

Loud, uncontrollable moans slip from my mouth, one after the other, causing my breathing to become erratic. This is a power trip for him, because with each needy and sultry pant that escapes my lips, he picks up the tempo, making my thighs shake.

My knees become tingly and weak, yet I somehow muster enough strength to unintentionally clench my shaking thighs around his head. He appears to enjoy being suffocated by my wet center because the moan he expels, rivals my own as it vibrates my pussy, sending shock waves through my core. He hasn"t been licking me for more than a few minutes and I already feel myself about to come. I maintain the tense hold I have around his head but as I arch my back, a bitter gust of open-air nips at where his fucking tongue should be.

My eyes jolt open to see him now standing before me with a sadistic grin smeared on his face. "What the fuck?" I exclaim. "You better be edging me and not just leaving me high and dry, asshole." Frustration and aching need tangle within me, making my vision feel grainy.

"I'm leaving you the wet and needy little whore you are." His words feel cold, harsh like a whip.

"I'm not a whore, asshole, I'm a dancer, there's a difference."

He points to the door, "to all those people out there you are a dancer but to me, you are a filthy, lying whore. My little lying whore. Got it, Final Girl," he sneers.

"What fucking ever, asshole. I'm done being your pet for the night. Thanks for the blue twat and third-degree burns" I huff, curling my fingers around the choker that I'm ready to rip from the stupid harness he gave me.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he reprimands.

I pause, still lingering my hand on the collar. "And why is that?"

He raises his ringed index finger. "Well for one, it's not going to come off that easy, only this has the ability to take it off," he says, swiping his inked thumb at the small and now very noticeable button that's centered on the band.

"Seriously, it's button controlled?" I ask, unimpressed.

"That's not all it does," he replies, cryptically, finger still hovering the button. "This can make you come, like you need to. That is, if you can follow my instructions."

Is this guy serious?

"I don't want to come," I lie, because there is nothing that I want more than to have this swollen ache that lingers at my center relieved. However, I refuse to give him the satisfaction of my pleasure or an answer. Instead, I rise, planting my heels on the floor, and walk to where he stands with his mouth still exposed.

Straightening my spine, I nod to him, signaling that I'm tired of him and ready to go.

Lifting my heel off the ground I step forward only to be met with his large hand cupping my crotch.

"Ha, that's what I fucking thought," he growls, digging his hand deeper against my dripping pussy. Even with the barrier of my minimal clothing, the warmth of his palm, mixed with the lingering arousal he left abandoned from his tongue, sends a heated surge through my body. "You're so sexy when you're desperate to come," he purrs, mouth near my cheek.

My jaw tenses. "When I get out there, I'm going to grab my knife and, if you even think of following me, I will stab you with it," I warn.

"I was hoping that's what you'd say," he groans. His stubble brushes against my face as his teeth descend onto my cheek.

Ew, why does he make cheek biting hot?

I fucking hate him even more now.

"Ew," I say in protest, stepping away from him to wipe away the trail of saliva he left on my face.

A muffled chuckle sounds as he flicks his wrist upward, bringing his watch into view. "Listen, time's ticking. If we are going to take this party across the street to the cemetery, we need to speed things up."

"The cemetery?" I ask, confused.

"Oh yes," he grins.

Closing the space between us, he tips my chin with his hand, forcing my gaze to his now fully masked face. "Here's how this is going to go. You're going to strut that fine ass back out there without making a peep. No signaling for help, no calling the cops. Nothing, do you understand me?"

I roll my eyes. "Yep, whatever you say."

Unamused with my bratty attitude, his grip tightens on my chin. "I may be crazy, but I'm also fair. I wouldn't dream of inflicting the pain I have planned for you without a fair fight. Grab your knife and meet me outside the entrance of Satan's," he instructs.

"And if I don't?"

"I'm going to destroy the carefully curated tower of lies you've been building all these years, by showing everyone this," he exchanges my chin for his phone. A few swipes of his phone later, grainy footage of me in the entryway, stabbing the reporter from earlier in the week to death flashes before my eyes.

I can tell by the way his head tilts, studying my face, he's expecting a grand reaction from me. But I stand there, unmoved. I should feel something as I watch myself drive the knife into the man's chest, but my emotions towards that traitor feel hollow unlike the beating in my chest that makes me want to pounce at him and choke him for the hell he is still putting me through.

"Why did you do it?" he asks.

"None of your business," I deflect, about to pivot towards the door but he lowers his hand, trapping my wrist. His palm is so large that there's room for him to still hold his phone while squeezing me.

"Let go of me," I grit and surprisingly he lets go.

My heels lift, moving my determined pace towards the door when his cedarwood musk wafts at my nose as he swoops in front of where I'm walking. The chains that drape on his side tap at the wooden door he begins to barricade with his back pressed against it.

"How the fuck am I supposed to get my knife if you won't get the fuck out of my way?" Exasperated, I pound at his chest but like a wall of bricks, he remains in my way and motionless.

"Relax, can't I just wanted to look in your eyes one last time like this," he says cryptically.

"You sound pretty confident. It's almost as if you think you're going to kill me," I quip.

"Something like that." He steps aside, brushing his calloused palm against my hand. "Remember, you run when I tell you to, not a moment before. If I get out there and don't see you waiting for me, you're not going to like what happens next."

I lift my palm to his mask, giving it a not-so-subtle tap. "I haven't enjoyed a god damn thing you've done so far, so don't fucking tempt me with a good time."

"I mean it, Blair," he says in a reprimanding tone. "Chop chop, hellcat and remember your life depends on it."

Laying a firm hand on my ass, he sends me off with one more spank that feels so good I almost forget how much I want to drive my knife into him the second that I get it back.

* * *

The beginning of Kid Brunswick's "Heaven Without You" thuds against speakers, rattling the floor I'm standing still on. I try lifting my foot to take a step but for reasons beyond my comprehension, I can't. It's like the music is ripping through me, distracting my every sense.

I like this song but fuck, I didn't realize it was capable of throwing my body into a state of hypnosis.

A rigid lump forms in my throat, only adding to this odd sensation that seems to be pulling me back to the hall of private rooms I just left.

Just walk Blair. I think to myself. Better yet, run. Get your goddamned knife and run far away from this psychopath.

Of all times to be a defiant brat, this isn't it. Not when he's still so close to me, angry and willing to do whatever it takes to make me crack.

The more I try to send signals to my body to move, the more I feel the vibrations of the music sear through me. My foot lifts and like a magnet yanking me back, my head turns in the opposite direction of where I should be heading.

My legs begin to quiver, as my head swivels in the direction of where I can feel his masked gaze appraising every inch of my body. There he is, leaning against the threshold that leads to the private rooms, with his ring finger raised.

The steady beat that feels like it's drumming at my body, isn't from the music. It's from whatever he hid in the center of my harness. My hand roams to my buzzing center, but the added pressure of my palm only intensifies the toy he's controlling.

As bad as I want relief, I need my knife more.

Forcing myself through the torment that waxes and wanes at my center, I shift as the toy presses against me with each step I take, teasing me more.

Finally at the bar, my hands slap against the countertop as I try to steady my breath. I'm close. I can feel it. Suddenly I've forgotten all about my knife. All I care about is coming, even if everyone in the damn place hears me moan. I don't care, I've never felt such aching need before in my life. My head lowers as my body rocks, working with the waves that shake my center when something soft brushes my shoulder.

"Here," Delilah breathes, moving her hand from my shoulder, discreetly tucking my knife under my hand.

I clear the lump in my throat, trying to figure out how I'm going to talk through the orgasm I feel coming on, but as my tongue swipes at my lips, it stops.

Relief and disappointment fill me. I look past where D waits for me to say something to her and back to where my masked devil was just standing, but I don't see him. My gaze roams around the main room, but he's nowhere to be found.

"Blair," Delilah says, forcing my attention back to her.

Shaking my head, I try to play off the conflicted emotions my mind and my body are feeling right now. Securing my knife in my hand, I quickly tuck it beneath the strap of my thigh harness.

"Thanks," I say with a half grin, already adjusting my stance, so my torso is facing the velvet curtains by the door.

Her hand grazes my shoulder. "You don't need to do this," she reminds me.

I know she believes that, but Maddox is relentless. Nothing will stop him from getting what he wants. So, a knife fight in the cemetery is the only way I'll have some peace.

"I got it," I grin wide, trying to reassure her. "I'll see you later?"

Her brows lift. "I better." Her hand lowers to my ass for a quick, playful tap, much less forceful than stalker boy's but it still serves as the encouragement I need to get ready to show Boogeyman why final girls rock.