He wasn’t pretending to like him. He was letting him jack him off. Those were two very different things. But explaining that seemed totally unimportant, so he said, “He knows I don’t like him. I don’t think I like you either.” Even as he said that last part he wasn’t sure who he was talking about. He was also pretty sure none of them actually liked any other of them.
What difference did it even make?
As long as they each got off… got what they wanted…
Mattie got on to the bed, straddled him, grabbed his biceps and squeezed, the painful grip of her hands a message to behave. Her breasts bounced above his face. He strained against her grip, wanted to grab them, squeeze them. Squeeze them hard enough to make her wince, make her beg. He didn’t want to behave, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to listen to her warning. “Good.” She said, lifting then lowering herself on to him, forcing his cock into her cold cunt. “I don’t want you to like me.” His cock was inside her now, her hips tight against him.
He missed Matthew’s gentle, careful caress. But he wasn’t going to admit that or ask for it. That would be weak. He wasn’t weak. He was a man. “We’re not here to be friends. You just want me to fuck you.”
Suddenly, she stopped moving, her cold body stiff and hard as ice. “In case you hadn’t noticed, you stupid asshole, I’m the one fucking you.” She stretched herself across him, pinning him down with her body. After wrapping him into a fierce bear hug, she rolled him over, so he was on top of her, then hooked her feet over his calves.
“Stop pretending you have a choice.” She pried his legs apart then slid her legs between his. “Stop pretending you want a choice.” His cock was still inside her. With her legs closed, the pressure on his dick was more intense than ever. He thrust in, pulled out, then thrust in again. He continued pumping into her, driving hard and pulling back. Over and over, doing what came naturally. He was a man, after all and this is what men did. There was no reason to be careful. He took what he wanted, fucked her how he wanted. Being on top gave him all the control, and he loved it. It was the way a real man fucked.
What had he been waiting for?
Mattie was beginning to moan and wiggle, push back with her palms, but he kept on, giving it to her, showing her what he was capable of. Somewhere in the back of his mind he noticed her stiffen and slow. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Rachelle, staring at the two of them, her fancy, rich-girl face a mask of lurid excitement and wonder. Matthew was also staring, his flat eyes taking on a sheen of admiration and animalistic lust.
Mattie was right. He didn’t have a choice. Neither did she. He picked up his pace, gritting his teeth as he drove his cock into her, grinding his hips against hers, smirking as he considered the possibility of leaving bruises. On her, if it was possible, on himself, as a remembrance of what he’d done, this path he’s crossed.
“There was oil on him.” Mattie turned her head to her brother and choked out the words, even as her body tensed, her muscles clenched beneath him. “Tell me the truth. Tell me now. I want to hear you tell me.”
Hayden thought of the bottle, the drizzled lines, but beyond that her words didn’t mean anything to him. He didn’t care. He kept fucking her, thrusting hard enough to feel bones against bone. Praying for the bruises. She struggled, grabbed at his arms, tried to pull him away. But her strength was failing her this time. Good. Let her feel every inch of him. Let her feel used, the way he had.
Grunting, gasping for breath, he slowed. The end was coming, and he wanted to feel every tiny pulse, every firing of the nerve endings. He wanted to feel her squirm and twist beneath him. She was clawing at him, her hands grabbing his shoulders. She was either pulling him to her or trying to shove him away. He couldn’t tell. Either way he didn’t care, but he did want to know.
A few feet away, Rachelle giggled. The sound worked its way into Hayden’s ears, like worms, crawling, wriggling, going deep. His head was starting to hurt. He wished she’d be quiet. Shut up. Or better still, go away. But now she was on the bed, beside Mattie, pushing herself against them. Vaguely, he noticed her wrap her hands around Mattie’s neck, fingers flexing as she tightened around the damp, pale skin.
Matthew moaned, the sound one of release and expectation. “Be sure to time it just right.”
Mattie’s eyes went wild, her hips rocked. “Matthew… ” she choked out. “The oil, the oil… ”
Rachelle’s shrill laugher sliced through the air.
The piercing squall made Hayden thrust faster, as though the rush of motion could drown out her noise. Mattie’s breath was starting to catch, the first pulses of her orgasm squeezing her walls around his cock.
She was thrashing side to side, scratching him as she tried to pull away. He leaned lower, put his face beside hers. The animal intensity wasn’t new. If she was trying to scare him off, it was too late for that. “Feels special, doesn’t it?”
The muscles in her jaw flexed so hard he felt the tightness against his cheek. “It’s not what you’re thinking,” she said.
Hell yeah it is.
And for once he was in control. And owning every minute of it.
“Is it working? Am I doing it right?” Rachelle, her hands still wrapped around Mattie’s neck, asked over her shoulder. “I think I am.” Her voice kept getting higher, tighter. “I’m doing it, right? I’m doing it.” She was screaming now, her shrill words matched in intensity by Mattie’s violent response. She was fighting Rachelle’s grip, her hands, usually so strong, were shaking, fumbling, ultimately failing.
Finally. Finally, Hayden had the upper hand, the control. He kept driving in, using the final thrusts to prove himself. His climax started deep in his gut, in a cold dark place that was born of fear, hatred and other hideous things he kept hidden from everyone and most of all from himself.
The climax clawed its way down, tearing its way through his gut, burning through his cock. His dick pulsed, his muscles burned. It was cruel, ugly, and all consuming—like nothing he’d ever experienced. He hung there, suspended between pleasure and pain, waiting, wanting, hating every second yet never wanting it to end. Darkness clutched his soul, it seemed as though he’d never get release. Eventually, he did, but it came slowly, gradually, pulling the humanity from him, stealing his breath, thought, and his sense of reality.
Finally, the last drops of cum dripped from his tip, smearing Mattie’s thighs as he withdrew, panting—heaving, actually—shivering and nauseated. Fantastic and terrible, he felt both and many ways in between. Still shaking, still disoriented.
“Hayden… ”
It was Mattie, whispering, her voice fragile, broken.
He braced himself above her, stared down, felt his chest clench when he saw the expression pulling on her face.
“No, don’t.” She lifted her hand up, touched his chin with her cold fingers. “Hold on to it, the pain. It’s what makes you human. Alive. Without it… you’re… ” she turned, looked at her brother, skimmed her fading gaze across Rachelle, then turned back to him. Her eyes glazed over. She stared straight ahead.
Hayden tapped her cheek, tapped it again, then slapped her. Her head wobbled, her tangled hair slid across her neck. The skin on skin smack left no mark.
The whisper was gone. The thrashing had stopped. Her body was completely still.
Rachelle was wide-eyed, her hands, loose now, were still curved around Mattie’s neck even though she wasn’t fighting any more.
“It worked,” Rachelle whispered, her voice hoarse with excitement.
Already Mattie’s body was growing even colder, harder, paler. The hard, cruel muscles no longer tight and flexed.
Rachelle’s whisper grew louder, her voice took on a sharp edge. “She’s… she’s… it happened. It really happened.”
Matthew moved over to stand beside his sister’s colorless, static face. “Of course, it worked.” He laid his palm across her mouth, turning his hand so that his fingers cupped her chin. He squeezed his hand, closing her mouth. “D
on’t doubt me, Rachelle. I don’t like that.”
Hayden scooted backward, peeling himself off the cold creature beneath him.
Rachelle let go of Mattie’s neck, but continued staring down into the lifeless face. “It’s just that I—I—”
“Didn’t believe me.” Matthew pushed the clumps of hair off Mattie’s face, smoothed his hand across the top of her head. “That’s doubt bitch. Don’t do it again.”
“Right. Yeah.” Rachelle nodded. “Of course.”
“What do you think of this turn of events, Hayden? You got something to say for yourself?”
He climbed off the bed, backed away to the other side of the room.
“Did I—I—I did that to her.”
“You want me to thank you?” Matthew picked Mattie’s leather off the floor, then covered her breasts. The sleeves hung down, the silver buckles on the cuffs rattled.
“It wasn’t just you, Hayden.” Rachelle lifted her hands, curled her fingers inward to mimic the strangulation.
Matthew’s face contorted. “Get the hell out of here, Rachelle.”
Rachelle lowered her hands, then opened her mouth but after a quick beat of silence snapped it shut.
“Go wait in the cabin.” He paused, glanced down at the motionless body then lifted his head. “You can take what’s left of the oil. Use it on one of the guards if you want. I don’t give a shit who you fuck.”
Rachelle’s smug smile was wasted on Hayden. He sure as hell didn’t give a shit who she screwed either. The beads smacked against the doorframe, and the thud of her feet faded into silence.
Matthew scooped up Mattie, carried her across the room, then sat in his wingback chair with her curled in his lap.
Hayden grabbed the fur cloak off the floor. “Why did you do it?”
He leaned back, looked up at the wood beams of the ceiling. “I can bring her back whenever I want,” he said in a near whisper.
Hayden was away from the bed now, unfurling the fur. “Why did you do it?”
“Fuck you, Hayden. You’ve got no fucking idea what’s going on around here.” Matthew adjusted the leather, covering as much of Mattie as he could. “This is your fault.”
Once the cloak was on, he moved to stand directly across from the chair, leaned against the wood slats of the cage. Mattie’s lifeless body sagged into her brother’s lap. She still looked like the vicious, cunning creature who’d taken him to edges he never knew existed. Yet, she was helpless, gone.
Matthew tipped his head back and howled. The sound was jagging and mournful. When he was done, he set his chin on top of Mattie’s head.
The smack of the beads in the door announced the guard who took only a half-step into the room.
Matthew didn’t look up. “Get this loser out of here. I don’t need him right now.”
Even though he was already heading for the door, the guard grabbed Hayden’s arm and pulled him from the room.
* * *
Late Monday morning, Hayden woke in his own bed with his own clothes. His clothes were not on his body, but they were in the room with him, heaped on the floor on top of his boots and coat. Had he taken them off himself? Had he been brought there naked and dumped into the bed? Who the fuck knew. He sat up, rubbed his eyes and saw the spare key he’d given Rachelle on the nightstand.
Pieces and parts flickered through his mind, a dance of darkness and haze. The white ponies. Tea. Chained to the bed. Matthew’s cabin. That other bed. Rachelle. Him actually wanting Matthew to touch him. Mattie. Him on top of her. Senseless fucking. Pounding in to her. Anger. Contempt. Ugly. Hatred. Red. Her turned dormant. Wailing. Matthew. The guard dragging him through the snow, taking him to Rachelle. She’d offered him two choices, drink the tea or get punched in the face by the guard until he blacked out. He’d chosen the tea. And that was the end of the night for him. Darkness.
What of Belmont? There was no telling what they’d done with him.
Hayden crawled across the floor, dug his phone from his inside coat pocket and waited while it powered on. He took the opportunity to grab his head and squeeze his temples, feeling the beat of his blood beneath his fingertips. The quick massage did nothing to ease the queasy pain festering inside him. Finally, his phone blinked with the log in screen.
No messages.
A voicemail from Bob.
Not a good sign. That meant it wasn’t anything quick. Fine. But it was going to have to wait until he’d had some coffee—not tea—and a shower. He pushed himself off the floor, shuffled to the bathroom, not bothering to flush the toilet after he pissed. Still naked, he made his way to the kitchen, set the kettle on, grabbed his French press. He reached into the cabinet over the sink for the bag of coffee beans but all he found was an empty space. Rolling onto the balls of his feet, he reached further back, felt around the vacant space, smacking the bottom of the cabinet.
“Don’t bother looking. I drank it all.”
Hayden froze. Waited for his brain to process the voice. Still reaching in to the empty cabinet he called over his shoulder. “Belmont?”
“Who else?” The old man grumbled. “I tried to stay awake but gave up around five. They must’ve brought you in after I fell asleep.”
He slammed the cabinet closed then crossed to the front room. The old man sat on the couch. His clothes scattered across the floor. Thankfully, this time, his ancient dick was covered by his striped boxers. “They brought you here too?”
“Turns out, I never left,” Belmont replied, giving Hayden’s naked body the once over.
Hayden stalked to his bedroom, grabbed the cover off the bed, wrapped it around himself then shuffled back to the front room. “You been here the whole time?” He dropped himself into the chair. “It was only one night, right?”
Instead of having the decency to cover himself up, the old man just sat there, his sagging chest and spindly old knees exposed. “I knew they’d bring you back once they got what they wanted and yes, only one night.”
Hayden sank into the chair. “Shit.”
“That’s the way they do it. Fucks with your head, doesn’t it? Makes you wonder if it ever happened?”
That pretty much summed it up. “You’ve been through it.”
“Actually, no. But I’ve seen it happen enough times.” The old man paused, then looked Hayden over again. “What’d they do to you?”
No way. He was not ever going to admit to any of that. Did not want to talk about Matthew touching him. Did not even want to think about what he’d done to Mattie. “I need coffee.”
“Get dressed. We’ll go get some. My treat.” He shoved himself forward, bracing his palms on his thighs as he stood. “It’s the least I can do. I ate your stash of Girl Scout cookies.”
Hayden spotted the torn green box on the floor beside an empty can of tuna. “Those were from last year.”
“You think I cared?” he asked, pulling on the pocket-laden travel khakis he’d tossed over the back of the couch.
Hayden pointed at the TV. “You charge anything on pay-per-view?”
“What?” He zipped up the fly his pants. “You mean like porn?”
“No dude. Like on Prime.” He grabbed the trash from the floor and took it to the kitchen.
“I watched some Breaking Bad on Netflix.”
“Not the Walking Dead?”
Belmont waited until he’d come back into the front room to reply. “Very funny. No. I like Walter. He proves that old guys aren’t useless losers like you think.”
“That’s an actor reading a script. You get that, right?”
Belmont ignored his jibe. Hayden let it go. Binge watching Netflix and eating an entire box of stale cookies would’ve been preferable to what he’d been through the past 15 hours. “Fine. Let’s go get a coffee.”
* * *
Belmont insisted they walk the extra four blocks to get to the nearest Dunkin’ Donuts. “I have to get a couple chocolate frosteds,” he’d said as they dodged the strollers crammed into the snow pile
s outside the second upscale, overpriced café he insisted they skip.
“Even after all those Thin Mints?” Hayden asked, unwrapping the scarf he’d tucked into the collar of his coat. The blizzard weather had moved on, the temperature bearable, the sun breaking through the gauzy row of clouds stretched across the stark winter sky.
“Maybe I’m trying to catch diabetes.”
“Catch it?”
Belmont gave him a sideways glance and grunted.
This salty side of the old man was superior to the creepy pervert he’d interacted with at the comic convention or the pathetic wimp he’d witnessed at The Southie during the ritual. Then again, Belmont had the nerve to stay until the end of that freakshow, watch the whole thing. While he’d done exactly what Rachelle said—run out of there like a scared pussy.
As they walked, Hayden did his best to sort through his options. He still owed Bob that article. What was he going to write about? Getting oiled down like a pig, grilled by a pair of psychos, then turning into a psycho himself? Yeah. Right. But the oil… that was the place to start. The rest of the truth was going to remain his own secret. Then there was the issue of Mattie. What kind of fiend did that to his own sister? Should he be glad Mattie was out of the picture? Was he safe? Out of this mess? But why did he feel like absolute shit every time he saw the image of her blank-eyed face drifting through the back of his mind.
Rachelle was still in. That was her choice. So why did he feel guilty about that too?
What a ball of fucked up shit he’d put together.
They passed yet another elegant café with high-end strollers parked out front. This time the row was under a pink polka-dotted awning and very orderly. Like a sportscar sales parking lot. Hayden was starting to understand why Belmont wanted to go to Dunkin Donuts. Bound to be a more appropriate crowd for the two of them. At the corner, they turned off Commonwealth and after another two blocks, the pink and orange sign came into view. There was a pitbull chained to a bike rack a few feet from the door. Classy. Yes, a better place for the two of them. They went in. Belmont got his chocolate frosteds. Hayden settled for a large black coffee. Usually he took it with crème, but embracing the sharp bitterness seemed like a good idea. Might prepare him better for whatever was coming next. It was the way his life was going these days.
Mistress of the Undead Page 7