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“Leon. She’s trying to escape. Cut her again,” I demand.
He’s already pressing the tip of the blade into her skin before I’ve even finished the sentence. “There, that’s it. Bleed for me, Christy,” Leon says, too in the moment to realise what he’s just said.
Christy.
Fuck!
Her spine bows, her tits pressing into my face as her head tips back. Dropping the knife to the floor with a clatter, Leon presses up against her back, and wraps his hand around her throat. I meet his gaze, recognising the hunger in his eyes, the need to own and destroy, for violence, but there’s a shadow of something else too. He wants to keep her. He wants to keep the girl, Christy, not the Number.
“You’re ours. For as long as we live and breathe!” he says possessively, and with that promise he bucks against her ravaged and bloody back squeezing her throat, strings of cum spurting all over her as he orgasms.
Moments later he steps beside me—his cock covered in their blood, his release—and does something that surprises me. Leon cups Zero’s face and kisses her with utmost care. He isn’t rough, he doesn’t take, hegives. He gives her a sweet, lovingkiss as his thumbs stroke her cheekbones gently, reverently.
For the first time since we became The Masks, I see Leon the boy and not the man and in that defining moment, I know one thing; we’re all fucking screwed.
“Make her come,” he demands.
I don’t hesitate, I make her come.
