I watch him for a beat, then I let out a slow laugh. I cross my arms, leaning against the wall, and for the first time in hours, we both smile. My tongue flicks out, and instinctively sweeps across my parched lips. He sees it. And I let him.
‘Drop your trousers,’ I say with a slight tremor in my voice.
‘What are you doing, Stella?’ he asks.
‘Playing a game I know I can finish. Waiting for you to decide if you’re going to kiss me...or kill me.’
A scream tears through the silence above ground. But down here, it’s just us – and all the dangerous things we might become.
He steps forward. A wicked curl tugs at the corners of his mouth; equal parts a threat and invitation. And there it is, his predatory smile, the one I’d seen on many occasions.
I smile back. ‘Under different circumstances, Sal, I’d steal that mouth and call it my favourite collectible.’
Slowly, his hand twists the button to his trousers. They fall to the floor, and he steps towards me. ‘And if I have my way,’ he murmurs, ‘I’d keep you hidden down here, tucked into the quiet corner of the world where no one would hear you scream.’ His gaze flicks to my mouth, and I gulp.
This is wrong. His voice envelops me, leaving goosebumps prickling at my skin as he continues, ‘But I’ve seen the way you fight, and I’d rather bleed beside you than bury you.’
Our eyes lock. ‘Why me? What do you want from me? Your boss wants me dead. And you said yourself he’s not one to be trifled with.’
He chuckles. ‘You’re right. Hedoeswant you dead, but I won’t end you, little bat. I want your breath, your fire, and the way you look at me like you’d rather bite than beg.’
He steps closer, just enough so I can feel the heat curling off his skin. His breath brushes my jaw, not quite a touch, more like a question. ‘Tell me to stop, Stella.’
But I don’t. I don’t want to. He looks at me like a puzzle he’s dying to solve. And I hate how badly I want him to try.
His finger strokes my chin, tilting my head towards his. That smirk – that delicious, dark thing that speaks of reverence and sin. ‘I didn’t think you would,’ he whispers.
He reaches inside his boxers, pulling his cock free. ‘Now, be a good girl, and suck Daddy’s cock.’
My eyes widen. ‘What the fuck is wrong with it?’ I gasp, pulling away.
‘My cock and your lipstick had a date. They got to third base.’
‘So, that’s where it disappeared to. You’re quite the thief, aren’t you, Sal. Give it to me!’ I demand, holding my hand out.
His hand snaps around my throat. ‘I prefer your lips bare, Stella. Soft, pink and honest. If you crave the stain of rebellion by painting them black, go ahead,’ he says, thrusting forward, ‘the lipstick is already on my cock. If you dare to come closer – use it to paint the line across your lips. But...understand, once you do, there’s no going back.’
My eyes widen further. Seething, I don’t wait. I grip his cock shoving it into my mouth as far as it will go.
Fuck him!
My lips press against his veiny skin, wiping off what’s mine. Sal groans, ‘Fuck, Stella.’ But I don’t stop. Tears well before I realise. They’re not from sorrow, the silence, Sal’s stare, nor the black smeared across his cock like a mark I couldn’t wash away. He’s watching me fall apart with a hunger like he’d been waiting for this unravelling, and he’s finally feasting on the sight.
Tears weren’t new to me. Not really. They came the way they always did – burning, uninvited. But this time, Sal welcomed them. He watches each one trace its way down my face like they were proof I still felt something. That I was still human.
‘There you are,’ he murmurs, ‘not the doll, not Marguerite Dubois. Just you. My Stella – raw, unravelling, and far more beautiful than any mask you’ve ever worn.’ His thumb drags across my cheek, gathering the tear like a trophy. Then, slowly, his tongue flicks out to claim his prize.
I pull back, wiping my mouth. ‘You don’t know me.’
His warmth hits me. It’s steady and real, solid against my skin. My fingers reach up, curling into his shirt like they’re afraid he might vanish. Something cracked in me; the giving way of walls I’d held up for so long. I’m not crying now, just remembering what it felt like to be wanted. Not as a performance, but as a person. I press my face against his cock and let myself believe for a second that maybe...just maybe I didn’t have to run this time.
CHAPTER 18
THE DIPLOMAT
I feel like I’m taking advantage. This wasn’t what I had in mind when I dreamt of Stella’s body weeping for me. Her large, doe eyes fix on mine, and all I want to do is release into her. Her hands tremble, smearing black streaks of mascara – stained grief across her cheeks - every time she wipes her face. My cock once rock hard has started to soften, not because what she’s doing with her tongue isn’t good.
It’sohso good, but because there’s something gutting about someone trying so desperately to hold themselves together in the quietest, most human way. Grief like this doesn’t come in dramatic wails or throwing knives. It comes in these still moments – shallow breaths, eyes that don’t blink enough because they’re so busy trying not to spill more pain. And the fact she’s still trying to suck my cock – a silent scream. She keeps sucking, like if she could just keep doing it, she wouldn’t fall apart.
