Fear the Wicked (Illusions Series Book 2)(45)

“Why don’t you come over here and kneel down in front of me? I have an idea of how you can wake me up.”

She purred in response, the mattress shifting beneath me as she inched away and slid her body from the bed. Without one question or word of protest, she rounded the end to walk toward me, making a point to add an obvious sway to her hips thinking that the movement would entice me.

It did nothing for me but irritate me, and I had half a mind to ask her to leave. But when she was standing before me in all her naked glory, when she sunk to her knees and licked her full lips, when she tilted her green eyes up to my face, I closed my eyes and let her do her best to seduce.

Her fingers were warm against my cock and I felt the familiar rush of blood pushing me fuller, longer. Once my erection was at its largest point, she flicked the tip of her tongue over the head, teasing me with the wet torment.

My hand slid down my thigh to find her hair and fist it, the muscles in my forearm tense as I struggled not to go too far. Despite how often I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t a monster, I couldn’t forget the death in both Cassandra and Eve’s eyes once I was done.

Letting go to the full scale of my desires was dangerous and I didn’t need another body lying in my path. Eventually those crimes would catch up to me, and jail would only stop me from finding and destroying the men who’d made a mess of Jericho’s and my life.

The Music Director.

The Priest.

Elijah.

All men who hid behind the disguise of pious men, but like me, hid a monster behind their soft eyes and practiced smiles.

It was too bad I knew certain ones were out of reach.

Lips wrapped around the head of my cock, another teasing flick of the tongue, a soft moan that vibrated against my skin. My hand fisted tighter in her hair as my head fell back. As my body came to life, so did the images.

It wasn’t this woman I saw as her lips slid down the length of my shaft, it was Cassandra or Eve, the two women who hadn’t been frightened of the man I hid behind the mask. They had known the real me and loved me regardless.

Live green eyes glistening with abandon and need.

Dead eyes accusing me of having gone too far.

Angry eyes judging me as I was accused of being a monster, both in my young life, my college years, and only a few months ago.

The accusations would always follow me. The anger and violence my constant companion. And despite the faith I’d given to a God who didn’t know me, I’d hoped that, with time, the monster would die.

He hadn’t. He still infected me with the memories of my father’s beatings, the fear I saw in women’s eyes. He still taunted me with thoughts of how I could use the woman on her knees in front of me and hurt her like I’d hurt so many others.

“Stop,” I growled out, the pain and memories too much for me to bear. The woman kept going, soft laughter a vibration against my dick because she believed I was playing.

“Fucking stop!” I roared, my hand jerking her head off me so hard that her teeth scraped against my skin. She fell backwards, her ass impacting the ground with an audible thud, her blue eyes darting up to me in shock and seething anger.

“What the fuck?”

“Get out,” I whispered, trying like hell not to scream the demand. It wasn’t difficult to figure out that I could only handle sex when I was shit faced and drunk. Too many whispers were filtering in my thoughts, too many memories flashing in my mind. Too much pain, anger and regret were bleeding out of my heart to pretend like anything would be normal again.

“You need to apologize,” she answered, her shoulders rounding back so that her tits stuck out from her chest.

My lips tilted in humor. “And you need to get your fucking clothes and get the fuck out before I open that fucking door and drag you there kicking and screaming. If you don’t think I’ll toss your whore ass out the door completely fucking naked, I dare you to say another word.”

She didn’t move except to widen her eyes.

I couldn’t help the volume of my voice. “GET THE FUCK OUT!”

The anger blazing behind her gaze transitioned into fear. Without another word, she scrambled away from me, gathered her things and quickly pulled on her clothes.

“You know what you are, you son of a bitch? You’re a fucking lunatic!”

The door slammed so hard the walls of the room shook when she exited, but I didn’t care anymore. Couldn’t care when everything I’d thought I knew about my life had been destroyed.

I wanted to pretend that my anger made me powerful, but it was only another symptom of my fear. Fear of my father’s fist pounding against me. Fear of the dark, dirt floored room that had been my cage. Fear of the torture I was forced to listen to when my father turned his anger against my brother.

Fear of taking another life just because I couldn’t control myself.

I could add it all together into one dark conclusion: I wasn’t afraid of all those individual memories and moments of desolation. I was afraid that I’d lost control and become no better than my father and mother.

Jericho had regained his control when he became Elijah, and now I feared him, too.

“Fuck!”

Pushing out of bed, I stormed into the bathroom to jump in the shower. The water scalded me where it rained down from the showerhead, the steam becoming a cloud that threatened to suffocate me in the warm moisture. Breathing in deeply, I pressed my forehead against the cool tiles, my hands fisting and releasing as I fought to get myself under control.