Page 46 of Shadowed With Fear

“Smiling like a little angel, when I know there’s a monster lurking deep down, just itching to come out.”

“We all have a monster inside us, Shadow. Are you going to let me see yours?” I lick my lips, eyes trailing down his body. His legs are spread wide in the chair, knuckles white below the brass knuckles.

“If I have to prove you wrong, I will.” He nods at me to keep going.

I stand, turning my back to him, thumbs tugging at the waist of my leggings. He groans louder with each inch of skin that’s exposed.

“Fuck, Dahlia. You— “he takes a sharp breath in. “You are going to be the death of me.”

I peer over my shoulder at him, smirking. My thumbs hook into my panties, and I work them down and up, slowly, over and over, but I don’t take them off. Instead, I climb onto my bed, ass in the air, swaying the same pattern as that night I wrote the note. It feels like such a long time ago. Looking back, I see he has leaned onto his elbows, like the idea of me moving away from him was impossible to bear.

My panties are tugged to the side, and the rush of air on my exposed center causes me to whimper. I’m so fucking wet. It’s a miracle it hasn’t dripped onto my thighs. With his perfect position to watch, I make sure I give him the show he wants.

My fingers are slow, teasing the heated flesh inside my thighs.

“Turn around, Dahlia.” He commands.

I obliged immediately. Sitting back on my heels, thighs spread, I bear myself to him complete. With a quick twist of my hands behind my back, my bra is thrown across the floor.

I wish I could see his eyes. But with the way the light has cast shadows in my room, I can only stare into the void of the mask. Yet, something about that thought makes this so much better.

My left hand runs up the length of my torso, over the rolls of my stomach, lightly tracing my nipple. I moan, eyelids heavy.

My other hands caress my thighs, each pass getting closer and closer to my core. My breathing deepens into something close to pants.

I look deep into the depths of his eyes as my finger rubs a gentle circle around my swollen clit. My moans are incessant. I’ve never felt this fucking good before. His eyes on me, his presence in my room, suffocating me in need.

My fingers work harder on my clit as my hand squeezes my tits, thumb and fore fingers tugging them. The noises I make are probably going to embarrass the fuck out of me in the morning, but I can see the thick outline of his cock through his jeans, and the quick rise and fall of his shoulders and chest as he breaths, nearly as hard as my own.

“Are you going to cum for me, sweet girl?”

I nod, eyes closing, head falling back against my shoulders. My hair tumbles down my back, the strands whispering against my skin, sending chills up my spine, and covering me in goosebumps.

The slow build of my orgasm starts low in my belly, burning with need. I whimper quietly, body begging for release.

“You look perfect. So, fucking perfect. So flushed and pretty with your hand stuffed between your thighs. I need to see it, little flower. I need to watch you cum.”

I moan at his words, my hips moving slightly with my hand, grinding my pussy against the heel of my palm.

“What is it, sweet girl?”

“More. I need more.” I mumble.

“No, you don’t, Dahlia. Only sluts beg for more. You aren’t a little slut, are you?” I can hear the smirk in his voice, but the second he called me a slut, a groan tears through me.

“Oh, is that it, sweet girl. You’re a little slut, needing more for your soaking pussy to come.”

Fuck. Yes.

I nod frantically.

“Such a good little slut, my precious flower. What a sight you are? Do you want me to help you?”

“Yes. Yes, please.”

“Lie down for me. I’ll take care of you. I’ll take such good fucking care of you.”

I quickly lay back on my bed, staring at him from the chair. He rises, stalking toward me, calmly.