Page 13 of Demonic Delights

“Maybe we can share a walk?” she suggests without waiting for me to reply, smiling at me even wider, dimples appearing in her cheeks.

My annoyance intensifies, morphing into anger I can neither comprehend nor justify. I’m usually nothing but happy to see Poppy, but right now, she repulses me with terrifying intensity. I want to yell at her to go away, yell at her loudly, aggressively, advancing upon her to scare her away.

I imagine the peach-soft, smooth skin of her face crumpling, tears pooling from those doe eyes. And the desire to do that to her, to make her cry and frighten her off, is so powerful that I know I must get away before I act upon it.

What is wrong with me?

“Not today, Poppy,” I tell her hastily. “I must dash. Already much too late.”

And in spite of every tendon in my body screaming at me not to, I break into a trot and run all the way to the sports centre.

Stuart is in the shower enclosure next to me. Over the drumming water, I can hear his grunts and the wet slaps of his hands against his flesh as he lathers it with soap.

Is he always so off-putting, or am I just noticing it more because I’m out of sorts?

Disgustedly, I turn my shower off and step outside, wrapping a towel around my hips. There’s a line of sinks and mirrors running perpendicularly to the row of shower stalls, but the mirrors are all foggy. I wipe one off with my palm and take my reflection in.

My eyes are a little bloodshot, but other than that, I look better than I feel, truth be told. Certainly better than Mrs Stubbs made it sound. There’s a youthful sheen to my skin, and my body seems bulkier, my muscles bulging on my arms and chest, veins popping darkly.

A little too darkly. Is it the lighting in here that’s causing them to look like that? But if it is just the light, then why have I not noticed it before? Have they changed the bulbs?

I take a step closer to the mirror to better inspect the oddity just as Stuart lets out a small, liquid fart, ill-concealed by the rattle of falling water. While matching the way I feel, the repulsion etched onto my reflection’s expression is a lot more obvious than I thought it would be. Do I really do such a poor job of hiding my emotions?

I freeze and stare, the steam swirling around my form, reminiscent of the persistent fog outside.

Unidentifiable dread crawls over me like a myriad of thin-legged spiders. There is no reason why assessing my reflection like this should cause my stomach to drop and my lungs to constrict. None, except for a vague recollection that something dreadful—something utterly unspeakable—happened the last time I had done so. But it is like trying to remember a nightmare upon waking up, still feeling intensely terrified, but no longer recalling what it was that was so terrifying.

I leave swiftly, and before bidding Stuart goodbye.

6

ROXANA

Awave of bliss rushes through me, and I ride it, curling my toes and bucking my hips, before I’m submerged in another, more powerful one that makes every muscle in my body tense and spasm.

“Uhhhhhmmm.” The sound of my own voice pulls me out of the depths and closer to the surface of consciousness.

Then the next wave arrives with a sharp tug near my core and is laced with a little bit of pain. Nowhere near enough of it for me to want to make it stop, but just the right measure to ramp up the intensity of my enjoyment. I squeeze my thighs, and they come into contact with something rough and scratchy.

Another sound escapes me, a complaining one this time, because unpleasant sensations are invading my limbo now. Like the fact that I’m cold, goosebumps erupting all over me, and my nipples are almost painfully hard underneath a thin scrap of fabric.

The next ripple of ecstasy is so sharp that I yelp and my eyes flutter open.

It’s night, but the curtains are pulled open and the patchy sodium-orange light of the streetlamps is pooling in, illuminating the crown of Silas’s head between my legs. I want to run my fingers through his hair. But when I try to reach forward, something cuts into my wrist. I glance to the sides and see that both my arms are fixed to the headboard with a pair of long-unused handcuffs.

“Silas, what the fuck?” I demand with a smile, then moan loudly as he sucks on my clit instead of responding. “Silas, I told you I was wiped out today and didn’t want to ...”

“Yes,” he cuts me off, raising his eyes to meet mine. “That’s what these are for.” He reaches out and taps the cuffs on my right side.

His lips are back on my pussy, but I squirm and kick my legs.

“But I’m so tired!”

He looks up at me again with that new lopsided smirk of his that exposes only a sliver of his teeth. There’s something threatening about it that makes me think of wolves curling their lips to reveal their fangs. It may look like a smile, but it doesn’t serve the purpose of one. Shivers run through me.

“It’s cute that you think I’d care,” he drawls.

“Silas!”