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I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing. For the first time in my life, I’m prioritizing someone else over my own schemes.
Maybe, just maybe, I’m irrevocably bewitched by that soft voice and I refuse to believe that was the last time I’ll hear it.
21
MIA
There’s an error in the matrix.
A miscalculated equation.
A hopeless, absolutely disfigured view of reality that’s impossible to fix.
And it all has to do with a certain Landon King.
The current monster of my life.
The demon who’s ushering me to hell with decadent smirks and a hedonistic view of reality.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I’d be into the demented things Landon keeps showing me. It started with mere curiosity, but now, I’m proficiently fluent in his crude kinks.
That morbid curiosity is morphing into something a lot bigger and more intimidating. He’s cutting each of my self-imposed limits with sharp, bloodied claws.
And the scariest part is that I can’t put a stop to it. Every day, I go to the haunted house, which Landon is slowly renovating, with the resolve that tonight will be the last hit.
And yet each night, I keep going back again and again like a hopeless addict.
My excuse is that a deep part of me has been yearning for this feeling of complete abandon and being slightly forced into giving up control. That black hole in the corner of my soul has been dreaming about unleashing this darker side of unbound lust—the side I wouldn’t even tell Maya about.
A side that’s frowned upon by all societies and their religions.
I often felt an itch in high school. Where Maya loved the attention, I realized early on that none of the boys I knew could satisfy this itch, not even other mafia leaders’ sons who thrive on violence and asserting their place in the world.
So imagine my surprise when I found that in none other than a posh British guy.
A psycho artist with a taste for everything forbidden and wrong.
The truth remains, I’ve never felt so stimulated as when he takes me unapologetically, uses me thoroughly, and manhandles me.
I’ve never been as thrilled as when he chases me and lets me think I’ve gotten away with it, just so he can tackle me to the ground and hate-fuck me.
It’s an aphrodisiac. A hit better than any drug.
The worst part is that I feel safe in his company. Two weeks ago, after he woke me up from a nightmare in the most pleasurable—and sick—way ever, I didn’t feel violated. Not in the least.
In fact, I was thankful that he was able to wrench me out of that loop. He’s done it again a few times since—I’m pulled right out of a horrific nightmare to find myself in blissful pleasure.
I never told him this, but yes, considering I’ve experienced an explosive orgasm every time he’s done that, I’d say somnophilia is safely one of my kinks as well.
Perhaps the reason I’m so addicted to Landon is either the sense of gratefulness or the rawness of emotions he triggers in me. Maybe it’s the ease with which he slid into the middle of my life. Even though we usually meet at the house, he still challenges me to the occasional epic chess game at the club, and because he spends so much time with me, the other members are gradually warming up to me.
Whenever we get together, he has my Frappuccino waiting for me, just the way I like it. He also helps with my presentations sometimes, even though we have completely different majors. In his words, “I think we already established that I have a superior IQ and school projects are child’s play to me. Besides, I’ll eventually study business so I can take over my family’s company.”
Every night, after he fucks me to within an inch of my life, he makes sure I’m well-fed and hydrated. He also has a surprisingly consistent aftercare routine where he wipes me clean and even massages my whole body as I fall into a deep sleep.
Nevertheless, I shouldn’t have disclosed bits of my past to him.
Landon might be in lust with me, but that’s the extent of his attention. None of his caresses and fake grins can fool me. He’s still a narcissist through and through and he’ll use my weaknesses against me when the time comes.
