Chapter 11

11

Jordan

" C hange of plans. You get to live a little bit longer," Eli says when he slips back into the camper hours after he left. And I hate that my dick twitches at the mere sight of the beautiful monster, ready for more torment.

A black plastic bag rattles in his hand, but I can't see the contents. Whatever it is can't be good.

"What do you mean change of plans? Just get it over with," I tell him.

"Nope."

God, I feel so ashamed of what I did last night, for what I would willingly do again. I'm starving to the point my stomach won't stop growling, and so thirsty my mouth is drier than sandpaper. And what do I want more than food or water? The psycho.

"Let me…let me see Maddie again," I beg because I'm worried about her, not for any other reason like tasting him again.

"No," Eli replies without even considering it.

Fuck.

While he was gone, I pulled on the restraints, searched the camper for anything nearby that could help free me. The only thing of notice were the four jars lined up on the kitchen counter with labels like Maddie's cupcakes, oh, and my stack of clothes.

Cupcakes and chains; it's one weird ass combination. I don't get this guy at all. I'm not sure if there is any way to make sense of him.

Trying only hurts my head. It's hard to think or even keep my eyes open because I'm so damn exhausted.

Who knew it was so draining to be edged for hours and hours? I didn't. Usually, I don't last more than thirty seconds with Maddie unless I think about the grossest things in the world like the gobs of her long hair she leaves behind in the shower drain, or the toothpaste gunk she never washes out of our shared sink. Her long hairs stuck in the toothpaste gunk. With those thoughts, I might make it three or four minutes if I thrust very slowly.

Last night, while I held Eli's dick in my mouth until he came two more times down my throat, he stroked my dry dick raw, off and on for hours. Hours of him buried in my mouth while he brought me to the brink of pleasure, and then left me out in the cold.

At least I fared better than the pervert. Eli really doesn't like him. Not that I feel sorry for him or anything.

After he pulled out of my mouth, Eli, who was apparently tired of the man's whining, slammed a hammer over his restrained hands over and over again until his fingers were broken, bones visible, twisted, and he was bleeding all over the place while wailing.

Now, Eli puts down the black bag on the kitchen counter next to the jars of Maddie's cupcakes and my pile of clothes, then he picks up a knife before going over to revisit the whimpering hogtied man. I have to lift my head off the table to watch, without warning, as Eli kneels next to the man…and stabs the weapon right through the fucker's face.

I think I may have even screamed a little, but it was thankfully overshadowed by the wails of the pervert. Each time Eli violently plunges the knife into his eye, the screams grow more agonized.

If I didn't know before, now I'm certain that we're miles away from civilization. Otherwise, someone would've sent the cops by the time Eli finished removing the first eyeball from the severed muscles and tissue.

Fucking hell, it's gross.

The man's shrieks cut off abruptly just as Eli's knife is inserted into the second eye, no doubt passing out from the pain.

"Fuck. I took too long," Eli grumbles to himself. He drops the bloody knife on the floor next to him to undo his belt and front of his pants, pulling out his long, swollen shaft. It looks so red and angry there's no way he lasts longer than a few more seconds of stroking it.

I'm relieved, but oddly have a twinge of jealousy when he erupts. On his knees, he's at the perfect height to shoot his release into the man's empty eye hole. The thick substance drips down his cheek and onto his lips.

"Goddammit!" Eli exclaims. "I really wanted him to be conscious for that part."

"Oh, I'm sure he'll be thoroughly terrorized when he wakes up and tastes your dried cum."

"Yeah?" he asks, looking at me over his shoulder as his bloody right hand wrings the last of his cum out of his dick.

"You really do get off on the violence and terror," I remark.

"I really do," he confirms. "Screams make me so fucking hard, the louder the better."

"How exactly did you get so fucked up that screams, blood, and gore, turn you on?" I can't help but ask him.

"Wow. Nobody has ever asked me that before." Eli gets to his feet and starts undressing all the way. Every inch of my skin feels tight as I watch him shove down his open suit pants, revealing his bloody dick and massive, muscular thighs the size of tree trunks. His upper body is just as thick, veins bulging in his forearms and biceps underneath rippling tattoos. His smooth chest and wide shoulders are solid masses that look like they could possibly withstand a bullet. And while he doesn't have an eight pack of abs like my lean ass, there are plenty of indentations on his hard abdomen.

"You've never seen a naked man before last night?" Eli asks, a cocky smirk on his face after he apparently watched me size him up. He slides all that nakedness into the left side of the booth next to my table-bed.

I lay my head back flat on the table to avoid looking at him. "No, at least not actually in front of me." Just porn, lots and lots of porn. "If my stepfather had gotten naked, well, I would've lost my hard-on, and he fucking knew it."

There's a long pause after that confession passes my lips. I honestly don't know why I blurted it out. Only my mom and Colt know what happened with Darren.

"Your stepfather?" Eli finally asks.

"Not the one I have now," I'm quick to clarify. "Colt's definitely hot."

"One of the pretty blond Fulton brothers?" he asks, having obviously done his homework while stalking Maddie.

"Right. It was my mom's husband before him. Imagine the opposite everything of Colt—late-thirties, flabby, a beer belly hanging over his pants, with a nose and ears too big for his head. I honestly have no clue what my mom saw in him other than he had a stable job or some shit. I had to keep my eyes closed the whole time…"

"The flabby asshole fucked with you?"

"Yeah, a few times. It was sort of a ‘I won't tell your mom you're skipping school and failing if you don't tell her I get off playing with your dick' situation."

"He played with your dick?"

"Until my mom caught him, us, in the middle of it one day when she came home from work early. She threw his ass out right then and there."

"Fuck."

"Right? I'm still ashamed of myself for being so weak, for letting him talk me into doing that shit, for hurting my mom. I should've just told her I wasn't going to graduate. Her disappointment in me would've been a lot better than the repulsion and betrayal on her face…"

"How old were you?" Eli asks.

"Eighteen. So technically it wasn't illegal or anything. In the end, I still failed my senior year and had to go to summer school to get my diploma."

The camper is now so silent for so long, I wish I had kept my mouth shut.

"He fucked your head up?" Eli eventually asks. "Is that why you refused to come out of the closet?"

"I'm not gay," I say defensively and wait for the bark of laughter or comment about how what I did last night that suggests otherwise. When it doesn't come, I add, "I didn't want to like it. And I wasn't attracted to him like at all, even when he was…you know touching me. Still, afterward, I refused to even let myself think about what it might have been like with a man I actually wanted."

"That makes sense," Eli agrees. "Once someone fucks your head up, it's hard to undo their damage."

Wow. I wasn't expecting the psycho bastard to be so…insightful or understanding. "Did someone fuck with you too?" I ask using his earlier phrasing.

"Not like that. I was just born a monster."

"Born a monster?" I repeat in confusion. I finally glance over at him. He's sitting naked in the booth with his bloody hands and dick, otherwise looking like he's waiting on dinner to be served. Since I take up the majority of the table, and based on the way he stares at my body, I'm guessing I'm the only thing currently on the menu.

"Whenever my mother looked into my eyes, she said she could see the devil looking back at her. She regretted bringing me into the world and wanted to take me out of it. She even thought she had succeeded in drowning me in the bathtub when I was like seven or eight."

He says this all calmly, like it's a perfectly normal part of childhood.

"Your mother tried to drown you?"

"Yeah."

"Jesus. How the hell did you survive that?"

Shrugging, he stretches both strong arms along the back of the booth. He grips the fake leather so tightly with his fingers that the veins in his biceps and forearms pop out even more. "I just held my breath and stopped fighting her, so she thought I was dead."

"Damn, man," I mutter, unable to imagine my mom doing something so horrible at such a young age. "What did you do after she tried to kill you?"

"Oh, I went about life like usual. I just kept going to school and shit." He chuckles and says, "When I walked through the kitchen to grab breakfast that first morning, she screamed and threw the hot frying pan full of eggs at me. The dumb bitch thought I was a damn ghost."

"She actually believed you had died and come back as a ghost?" I repeat unable to help my smile even if it's a fucked-up story.

"She thought she had killed me and that I had come back to haunt her since she buried me and everything in a shallow grave in the backyard.

"Jesus! She fucking buried you after drowning you?" I exclaim in disbelief.

"Yeah, but not well, thankfully, or I probably would've suffocated before clawing my way out."

His mother tried to drown him, buried him alive, threw a hot pan at him when he was seven or eight? And all that happened to seven- or eight-year-old Eli in just the span of a day. No wonder he's so fucked up.

"Every time I walked into a room after that night she would scream," he goes on to say. "I fucking loved it because it was the sound of me claiming a tiny shred of revenge. She had hit me plenty of times trying to ‘knock the devil out of me.' Finally, I had figured out a way to hurt her back. After being so weak for so long, I felt…powerful."

"Your mother seriously thought the devil was in you, when you were just a kid?"

"She didn't just think it, she was absolutely certain I was possessed or some shit. She would slap the shit out of me or full-on punch me in the face trying to get the evil out of me. The night the drowning happened was right after I decided to hit her ass back for the first time. Hit her so hard I knocked the bitch to the ground."

"Sounds like she deserved much worse."

"Oh, she did. Still, she cried and sobbed the entire time she held me under the bath water. I don't think she wanted to kill me, but she thought she was doing the world a favor, saving it from me. And when she thought I came back to haunt her as a ghost, she felt so damn guilty for my murder that one night I found her just chugging all the pill bottles in the medicine cabinet. I tried to stop her, knocked them away and poured the rest down the toilet while telling her I was still alive, not a goddamn ghost, and that her attempt to kill me obviously failed."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing. She passed out on the floor crying so I went to bed, figured she would either live until the next morning or wouldn't; I no longer cared either way."

He stops telling the story there, but I'm so invested I need to know more. That's why I can't help but ask, "Well? Did she live?"

He nods his head and bites down on his bottom lip a moment before reaching a blood-stained fingertip out to trace the lines of my abs closest to him. I gasp at the soft, teasing touch. My mind is headed deep into the gutter when he says, "She lived. I was asleep when she pulled me out of bed by my arm and dragged me all the way outside to the backyard where the sun was just starting to come up. Same yard where she had buried me weeks earlier. She yanked on my shoulder so hard it popped out of socket. I was in agony." Lower and lower that fingertip of his traces before starting all over again at the top, making it hard to concentrate on his words. But I do, blocking out the happy tingles, since this is important. I don't know why it's important to me if I'll be dead in a few hours or days, but I listen to him and warn my dick to shut up. "I didn't even know what the crazy bitch was doing until she had padlocked a dog collar around my neck and chained me to the fence with another padlock. Then she just…left, went back inside the house with a big sigh of relief and a smile on her face like she was proud of herself."

"She left you chained up outside like an abused dog? For how long?"

"A little over twenty-four hours," he says.

"Wow. She kept you out there a whole day and night?"

"I tried a million different combinations on both locks. There was no food, no water other than what little rain had collected in an old dirty dog bowl out there. I had a big, noisy mutt that died from heat or something right out there on that chain months before," he says. "Anyway, the next morning was a Monday, a school day. A kid in the neighborhood heard me swearing in frustration at the damn locks from the corner school bus stop. He came around the house and found me. I asked him to go get me some bolt cutters to snap the locks. Instead, the police and social services showed up."

"They arrested her?"

"They arrested her and asked me if she had hurt me before. I told them everything, about her trying to knock the devil out of me with her fists and thinking she had drowned me then buried me."

"Did you have any relatives to take you in?"

"God, no. Not that I would've wanted to live with any of her relatives." He reaches across my body to the other side of my abs, his arm resting heavily but not uncomfortable on my stomach as he watches his fingertip slowly trace each line of those muscles. "I didn't know who my father was, so I ended up in foster care. A big house with three other boys and a girl. I was fucking starving too, so when I finally, after days, had a slice of meatloaf in front of me next to a pile of potatoes, it felt like I had died and gone to heaven." Shaking his head, he smiles and says, "The first bite was the best damn thing I had ever tasted. I went to stab my fork in the loaf for another bite and the oldest kid, fourteen or fifteen to my seven or eight, reached over and snatched it right off my plate with his dirty ass hands."

"No fucking way," I say, unable to imagine someone else being a dick to the poor little boy who had already suffered enough.

"Oh, yeah. He shoved my meatloaf right into his fat mouth while the foster mom had her back turned washing dishes. So, I aimed my fork for his loaf still untouched on his plate. He tried to cover it with his hand." Eli chuckles at the memory. "My fork went right through his flesh, hitting bone. I had never heard screams like that before, even louder than my mother's. And fuck, I was pissed when he bled all over the best meatloaf I had ever tasted. But I still ate every crumb while everyone else was running around the kitchen in a panic."

"Wow. Did you get into trouble even though he started it and deserved it?"

"Oh, yeah. I got thrown into juvie."

"For how long?"

"I think it was only going to be a year or two, but whenever I had a psych evaluation, I would go apeshit and tear up the fucking room, threaten to kill the doc so I could stay in confinement."

"You didn't want out?"

"I sure as shit didn't want to go back to my mother or a random foster home where I could fuck shit up. At least in juvie I got fed three meals a day. After a few years, I even had two good friends who were long-termers like me. We watched each other's backs, then in our teen years we scratched each other's itches too," he adds with a grin. "So it wasn't that bad, especially after I had enough meals to put on a little weight and grew a few inches so I could stand up to the bigger kids and kick their asses."

"How long were you in juvie?" I ask as his teasing finger swirls around and around my bellybutton, stealing my breath.

"I went in when I was eight and came out when I was eighteen, so ten years."

"Damn."

"It wasn't bad," he reiterates, as if trying to convince himself. "Our uniforms were like pajamas, and other than having to wake up early, it was like a regular school day with classes. Recess outside was a small area surrounded with a thirteen-foot barbed wire fence. But, if we didn't fuck up for several months in a row, they let us work at the farm next door to the detention center, got to stay outside longer in the summer."

"Where did you go when you got out? Not back to your mother, right?"

"Oh, hell no. She was dead by then anyway. Drug overdose or suicide seven years earlier." He suddenly drags his finger down, down, down, to my pubes. His eyes study the dark curls like they're the most interesting thing he's ever seen while telling me the craziest fucking story I've ever heard. "Not that I gave a shit if she was dead. It's not like she ever came to visit me before she died."

"Must have been tough being released with nowhere to go and no money," I remark, trying to imagine what I would have done without my mom when I was an eighteen-year-old fuck up.

"It wasn't. I didn't have shit, so when I was released, I roughed up and robbed people on the street for watches or any shit I could pawn. I lost touch with my friends from juvie. Jace still had time to serve, and Jamal got released before me."

"You lived on the streets?"

"There sure as shit weren't any homeless shelters back then in Ridgeway, South Carolina. I never fucked anyone for money, but I would fuck older men or women for a bed for the night."

I can't even wrap my head around that type of desperation, having sex with someone just to have a safe place to sleep.

"How did you go from the streets to…" I lift my restrained hand as if to gesture to him. "You know, the suit and all."

Finished with his thorough examination of my pubes, his fingernail drags down over my cock. Eli chuckles when I squirm and groan as that nail runs along my swollen shaft—up and down, around, teasing. Always teasing.

"How did I go from the streets to here? That's a long story," he replies. "And I need a shower. Got some of his blood on you too now."

"Then wash that shit off while you tell me the rest," I demand.

The deep blue glower he gives me makes it clear that he doesn't like taking orders.

"Please wash it off?" I ask nicely. "I don't want that sick bastard's blood on me."

"Me either." Eli slides out of the booth without a word, and all I can do is watch his juicy round ass head for the bathroom. I hear the spray of the shower and know he's not coming back for a while.

My mouth waters, wishing I could get a few drops of liquid on my tongue.

The longer Eli is gone, the more aware I become of the sticky blood drying on me. I lift my head and find the trails of crimson all over my stomach, down to my pubes and cock.

Damn him!

I feel so dirty and disgusting, wishing he would hurry up and get back out here so I can beg him to clean me up. And fuck, I really want him to touch me again, only without the blood staining my skin.

Finally, after what feels like forever, the water cuts off, making me wonder what kind of water source the camper is hooked up to in order for it to last so long.

A moment later, Eli strolls out of the bathroom, his shoulder-length wet hair dripping, brushing the tops of his ripped shoulders as he dries his huge body off with a hand towel. It's pretty ridiculous, actually.

"Are you laughing at my baby towel?" Eli asks when he notices my silent laughter. Grabbing the two ends of the fabric between his hands, he rolls it up and then comes over to pop me with it, of course at my dick.

"Ow, fuck that hurts!"

That statement only has him doing it again and again, aiming for my stomach and chest.

"Stop hitting me with it and scrub the blood off with it."

Standing between my thighs, Eli stares down at me like he's memorizing every inch before he finally says, "I'm gonna need more water."

Turning around to the cramped kitchen, he opens cabinet door after cabinet door until he finds what he was looking for—a glass.

"God, yes. I'm so thirsty," I tell his naked backside.

He runs the sink faucet, filling up the glass, then turns around, bringing it over to me…and throws the water on me.

I gasp at the cold surprise of it splashing my face and body, then lap up what my tongue can reach.

Eli is still grinning as he slides back into the booth. "You're a dick," I tell him.

"Open wide," he says as he scoots closer to my head.

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

I hesitate for only a moment before parting my dry lips. Leaning over my face, Eli wrings out the damp right side of his hair directly over my waiting mouth.

Beggars can't be choosers, so I gladly swallow the cool liquid down, tasting the coconut flavor of the shampoo he must have used. He's close enough that my cuffed right hand can even grasp his bicep.

Eli jolts as if he didn't realize he had come so close but doesn't pull away. If anything, he flexes to make the muscle harder, bigger as if he's trying to impress me. I already knew his arms were thicker than my thighs, so it's completely unnecessary.

Reaching over, he wrings the left side of his hair into my still open, greedy mouth. As he drops his head a little lower, I close my lips around the strands of hair dangling before me to suck on them while my fingers knead his hard bicep.

I hear Eli suck in a breath, as if he's getting as turned on as I am from our weird ass flirting or whatever it is we're currently doing.

Digging my fingers into his bicep, I bite down on his hair, tugging him close enough that I can lick the scratchy scruff of his cheek. He lets out a moan louder than the noises he made when his dick was in my mouth.

And when he turns his head, I stick out my tongue to run it over his parted lips as he stares down at me with a different, softer sort of heat in his eyes. Taking the hint, he presses his lips to mine, a gentle brush at first until my tongue swipes over them again. That's when he snaps.

His tongue shoves deep into my mouth to do battle with my own. His palm slips under my head, bringing my mouth closer while I keep a grip on his arm.

I feel dizzy, like there's not enough oxygen in the camper. When Eli's fingers wrap around my throat and squeeze, it feels like I'm floating. The kiss grows more desperate and I'm not sure if he's about to kill me or fuck me as everything goes dark.

"Do it already," I pant against his lips, knowing which option I would prefer.

But Eli only releases my throat like it burned him and pulls back out of my reach. Brow furrowed, he even looks angry as his chest rises and falls. "You taste like my cum."

"No kidding since it's all I've had to eat today," I remind him. "And how do you know what your cum tastes like?"

"You've never tasted your own spunk?" he asks.

"No."

"I'll make sure you do when I finally let you come," he says, then he slides out of the booth with his small towel, and runs it under the kitchen faucet, then wrings it out. Before coming back, he grabs one of Maddie's cupcake jars and a fork from a drawer.

As if in a hurry, he rubs the wet towel over my stomach and pelvis, then my dick, cleaning away the blood before tossing it away.

Sliding back into the booth, he pops the top of the mason jar and lays the lid on my chest.

"Which flavor is that one?" I ask him.

He turns the jar around to read the Wicked Delights Cupcake Company sticker. "Blueberry lemon."

"Nice. That's one of my faves."

Stabbing the fork into the jar with the same aggression as he stabbed a man's eyeball, he removes the fork and brings it down to my mouth. I part my lips greedily for it.

"Mmm," I moan as soon as the sweet cake and icing hit my tongue.

And holy shit.

Moaning and biting food off a fork another man is holding is a sort of intimacy I've never felt before, not even with Maddie.