Master

by Alice La Roux

  Using my thumb to part her lips, I flick my tongue out over her clit. I’m not gentle as I suck and lick her swollen bud, eating her like she was an ice cream on a scorching day. Her hands fist in my hair as she begins to roll her hips, fucking my face as I devour her. Reaching out, I grab the candle once again and dribble the red wax down between her breasts and her stomach. Every time the liquid heat hits her skin, she arches, pushing herself deeper onto me and my horn as it cuts in against her soft flesh. I can feel her nails biting into my scalp as her orgasm builds, and her thighs tremble around my head as she comes. I thrust two fingers inside her, feeling her pussy clenching, begging for more as she stammers my name, and I force a second orgasm from her.

  I go to move away, but Delilah surprises me by pushing me backwards onto the floor and removing my trousers before straddling my lap. She traces her fingers over each of my tattoos, as if she was trying to memorize them all. This was my map, like her scars were hers.

  Leaning down, she kisses me, and it’s soft, almost tender—that is until she bites me, drawing blood, but that doesn’t stop her. She rubs herself against my cock, and the slick wetness makes me growl. Grabbing her hips, I maneuver her into place. No one teases me. I impale her, forcing her to accept all of me in one thrust before I pinch one of her nipples. She sits upright, and with a sly smile, begins to tilt her hips, making her body ripple like it does when she’s dancing. Skimming my hands over her body, I finally settle on her thighs, where I dig in my nails until I feel them break the skin. When she spots the ruby red droplets forming, she moves faster, thrusting and gyrating as though she was running out of time. I release my hold as her third orgasm takes hold, and while her body convulses, milking me, I grab her arms and drag her mouth back down to mine.

  “That space you were talking about earlier,” I say between kisses, “consider it fucking filled.”

  Sixteen

  Delilah

  We lay in the candle light of my trailer for a while, not saying anything as his hand moves absentmindedly over my scars, and I stare up at his horn. The ridges are harsh and jagged where it’s grown over the years, slowly curving and twisting along the line of his head.

  “Does it hurt?” I ask quietly as he smirks at me.

  “No, it’s the same as your fingernails.” I reach up and tenderly move my fingers over the hard, black protrusion. I’ve touched it before, but never like this.

  “Why didn’t you have it removed?” I ask as my fingered move down its length and to the base, where the skin seems tender.

  Digging his cigarette out of his trouser pockets, he lights up and takes a drag. “Why would I? I like my life. I do whatever the fuck I want and people blame it on me being a monster. It’s an easy excuse.”

  “So, you don’t care about how people treat you?” I prop myself up on my elbow and look at him.

  He looks at me through his long dark eyelashes. “I am happy in my own fucked-up skin, Delilah. I don’t give a fuck about anyone else.”

  “But-” How could he not care? I was so afraid of my body, of my scars, and it wasn’t until I joined the Carnaval that I started to appreciate my body, and yet, I was still conscious of everyone’s eyes on me when I walked amongst the crowds.

  He lifts his hand to silence me. “No.”

  I open my mouth to protest and ask more questions, but barely a heartbeat passes and a voice can be heard outside my trailer window.

  “EZRA!” Jerry bellows. “Has anyone seen that shithead? I can’t find the ticket stubs from tonight. And I can’t find Burt either. Ezra!”

  Groaning, Ezra stands and begins to pull his trousers on, cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth as he tugs his shirt on. “That’s my cue to leave.”

  “It’s almost two a.m.” I groan, checking my phone as I sit up. I can hear the wax on my stomach and breasts cracking as I shift.

  “And the Carnaval never sleeps.” He chuckles as I stand.

  I take a quick shower after he leaves to help take the sting out of my poor marked body before crawling into my bed. My body was tender and achy from the candle wax and Ezra’s clawing at my skin. But it wasn’t a bad ache, it was contentment. I felt normal. As I drift off, it doesn’t even occur to me until much later that I didn’t count my scars.

  When I wake the next morning, I’m disappointed to learn that I’m alone. I could’ve sworn that Ezra had come into my trailer not long after I’d gone to sleep, I remembered him standing at the foot of my bed, shrouded in darkness and stroking my hair. And yet, the other side of the bed was cold and empty when I finally woke up.

  I get dressed and head over to the practice tent. I have some new routine ideas I want to try before tonight’s show, and if I don’t do it while they are still fresh in my mind, there is a chance I’ll forget the moves. I can’t seem to find my backpack anywhere, I thought I’d had it back in my trailer, but when I left, it was nowhere to be seen. After I’m done stretching and showing Alina my ideas for tonight, I quickly check amongst the equipment, but it isn’t here either. It must be in the dress tent, but it isn’t important, I’ll find it later.

  Sitting on the grass in the sunshine, I take a bite out of a warm bread roll. Wren is laying on the grass beside me, and Alina is perched on one of the long benches in the shade in front of us. It’s strange that the slow moments are spent like this, it’s almost like a picturesque summer’s day...except we’re all freaks in the Carnaval. This slice of peace is the closest most of us will ever get to normal again, and that’s okay.

  Jerry comes over, sitting beside me with a plate of cold meats and salad. “There are protesters out the front again.”

  Wren opens an eye lazily. “Any shitty signs this time?”

  Jerry laughs. “Nope, all spelled correctly with punctuation and everything.”

  “Mmmm, posh protesters,” Alina purrs as she takes a sip of her drink. None of this seems to faze them, while it makes me nervous. I’d been heckled before, had things thrown at me as punishment, but that was by people I knew, not complete strangers.

  “Does that make a difference?” I ask, taking another bite of my roll.

  Wren stretches and rolls over. “Yeah, the posh ones just thrust their bibles in our faces and use big words. The others like to throw rotten food, spit, and start fights.”

  Swallowing, I murmur, “Oh.”

  I look up to find Jerry watching me carefully. He gives me a speculating look as he elaborates. “I think one of them is that blond fucker from the other night. The one who slapped you.”

  Sitting up straight, I can feel my eyebrows being drawn into a frown. “Trevor?”

  Why had he come back? Why couldn’t he listen? I wasn’t going home. I wouldn’t fit back into the box they were carving out for me. I would never be a perfect daughter, a good little housewife, and a perfect, church-going mother. I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t do it.

  Shrugging, Jerry shoves a chicken roll in his mouth and swallows before responding. “If that’s his name. He’s with a man with brown hair and a beard. Looks kinda familiar.”

  Once again, it feels like the air has evaporated into nothing as I struggle to catch my breath. They all go silent and watch me as I stare at my hands for a minute, not sure how to process that he was finally here. I’d been expecting it. I knew he’d come, I just hoped that he wouldn’t. “My father.”

  Alina looks at me over the top of her sunglasses. “Don’t go out there, Delilah, it could get nasty.”

  “I think she should. Hiding here doesn’t change anything,” Indigo remarks as he strolls past, Yager following closely behind, face a mask like always.

  “Yeah, well, we didn’t ask you,” Alina grumbles as they disappear into one of the tents nearby. Alina hadn’t taken to Indigo at all, and I wasn’t sure why, I tried to avoid any Carnaval drama. I didn't need to give Ezra a reason to throw me out.

  I inhale and count to ten. Trying to keep my voice steady, I explain, “He’s got a point, I need to see if it’s really
him. I need to tell him that I’m never coming back.”

  “Ezra isn’t going to like this…” Jerry grumbles as I stand and brush the dirt off my clothes.

  Jerry, Wren, Burt, and two of the riggers come with me as we walk down to where the protesters are standing with their signs, calling us monsters and abominations. Alina and Wren linger toward the back, while Crispin has appeared out of one of the tents with Needles. They try to stay away from the hateful crowd, and I don’t blame them. If my father wasn’t here, I wouldn’t be either. I can’t spot him, but Trevor sees me and comes running over, stopping just before he reaches us. He eyes up the support I’ve brought with me wearily, before focusing on me.

  “Delilah, we’ve come to get you. To bring you home.” The way his face lights up when he says the word home in such a tender way has my skin crawling. It was not my home. It was never my home. It was a prison.

  I take half a step back as I try to keep my voice level and clear, needing him to understand. “I told you, Trevor, I’m not coming back. I’m staying here.”

  “No.” He screws his face up. “You can’t. I won’t allow it.”

  Trevor was welcomed into the church before me, and I should have known then that it was the end of the Trevor I knew growing up. He was so stuck in their ideology, wading in in it up to his neck as it slowly suffocated him. I was not his belonging, no matter what they told him. I did not need saving, I was saving myself.

  “Leave, leave now before it’s too late,” I hiss at him as Jerry moves forward and places a large hand on my shoulder.

  “Delilah…” He groans, running a hand through his hair and kicking at the dirt. I don’t like his expression, it’s the one he used before he punished me. It was the guilt before the storm, and that made me feel like spiders were running up my spine.

  “What the fuck is going on?” a voice booms, and the people gathered to watch move aside, allowing Ezra to stride down the middle like fucking Moses parting the sea.

  He stops between Trevor and I, and looks disapprovingly over Trevor. The last time we’d met like this, it had been dark, but in the sunshine, there was no hiding who Ezra was and how terrifying he was. “Ahh, yes. The boyfriend.”

  Clicking his tongue, he gives him a once-over before crossing his arms and looking over his shoulder to me. “I can see why you left him behind. What a waste of oxygen.”

  The flash of guilt on Trevor’s face was gone the second Ezra stepped between us, and I knew that his jealousy couldn’t be contained. He was going to make me bleed if he ever got his hands on me.

  “You again.” Trevor seethes, his hands fisting at his sides. “Who the heck are you?”

  Someone behind us sniggers, I think it’s Alina, and Ezra looks at me, rolling his eyes as he tuts. “He doesn’t even say hell, Delilah.”

  I resist the urge to laugh, but I can’t help the way the corner of my mouth pulls up slightly into a smirk as Trevor sputters, “I’m a man of God.”

  Ezra begins pacing back and forth between us, meaning that Trevor can’t reach me without going through him first as he taps a finger against his lips. “And yet, you can call her a whore. Interesting.”

  Trevor puffs his chest out as he glares at Ezra openly with a hatred like I have never seen before on his deceptively wholesome face. “You still haven’t explained yourself.”

  With a grin, Ezra spins on his heel and leans down over Trevor as he taunts, “I’m the devil who makes her scream for God. And this is my freak show.”

  Whatever words Trevor was going to spit back, die on his lips as his mouth hangs open, and he shoots me a look of pure disgust. The crowd of protesters are silent too, just watching the entire interaction with frightened looks on their faces. I don’t recognize any of them, they aren't from the church, they’re just dicks looking for something to do on a day out.

  Another voice cuts through the air, as a small man pushes his way through. “If you’ve touched my daughter, you filthy, perverted goat…”

  My father stands before us, shorter than Ezra and Trevor, but the way his face is a mask of rage still makes me tremble, and my skin begins to burn. Wrapping my arms around myself, I hold on tight, as if I’m trying to stop myself from falling apart at the sight of him. It’s like my body remembers every lash, every burn, every cut as my skin crawls and itches.

  My breathing comes in ragged, and I don’t miss the way Ezra’s eyes are glued to my face as he shrugs. “Goat, that’s original.”

  Jerry’s hand squeezes gently, giving me the comfort that the Ringmaster can’t as he defends his Carnaval.

  “I warned you five years ago that she wouldn’t be safe here.” The corners of Ezra’s mouth twitch as he lights up a cigarette, inhaling slowly as he looks over my father. He leans in, exhaling a plume of smoke into his face, his voice hard as he snarls, motioning toward Trevor, “Now, if this shithead lays another finger on her, I’ll snap off his dainty little digits and feed them to Dog Boy.”

  Wren howls behind us, and some of the protesters shrink away, leaving before things get nasty. Smart move. The tension in the air grows thicker, and I can almost taste it as my father grips his cross in one hand and forms a fist with the other.

  His eyes, the same color as mine, burn into me as he defends his actions. “She is mine. She is of my flesh and blood.”

  “That doesn’t make her your whipping post.” Ezra chuckles, as he turns and places two fingers under my chin, lifting my face to his. “Besides, she sold her soul to the Carnaval. She’s mine now.”

  My father shoves Ezra away from me, and I immediately miss the warmth of his touch. “You will pay for this. I refuse to let you corrupt her.”

  I have never seen Ezra angry, not truly. He always shouts and bellows at the others, but there is never a burning rage behind his eyes as he does. Not like now.

  “She was corrupted the second you drew blood.” Running his tongue over his teeth as he holds back from hitting my father, he takes two steps, positioning himself behind me, mouth against my neck as he taunts the man who broke me to begin with. One hand slides around my waist, the other around my neck as he continues his provocation. “You made her a freak, I just enjoy her as she is, in all her fucked-up glory.”

  My father and Trevor both spring forward, but they don't even get close as Jerry and Burt block their way.

  “Gentlemen, I think it’s time to take the trash out,” Ezra murmurs as his teeth sink into my neck, and I melt into him.

  Seventeen

  Ezra

  “They're gone, you can let go of me now,” Delilah whispers, trying to shrug me off, but I hold her firmly in place. I don’t want to let go, because if I do, then I might drag them back and kill them. They would deserve it, but Delilah didn’t appear to want that.

  Trevor glares at us as Burt drags him away, and there’s something about his face that is bringing forward a memory, almost like it’s on the tip of my tongue. I didn’t notice it the other night as he was hidden in the dark, but standing here in the broad daylight, I can almost taste it.

  “Ezra.” Delilah shivers under my touch, and I sink my teeth in further. The others disperse, not that it bothered me if they watched us anyway. I know they’re all curious about what she is to me, but I don’t have a proper answer for that because I don’t know myself. All I know is that she is mine, and I don’t intend to let that crusty motherfucker or the sanctimonious fucking boyfriend touch her ever again. And if that means I have to spend the rest of my days buried in her, then that suits me just fucking fine.

  “Let’s go back to your trailer,” I murmur against the crook of her neck, teasing my tongue over the dips of the teeth marks I’d left behind.

  “Later,” she replies, pushing me away again, and this time, I move. Her face is clouded over, and I knew that sex wasn’t what she needed, even though it was what I wanted.

  Grabbing her wrist, I drag her to the practice tent, ignoring the little noises of protest she makes as we weave through the trailers. Whe
n Trevor had confronted her the other night, I’d brought her out of her cocoon with sex, but this wasn’t the ex-boyfriend. This was her father. This was the man she loved and trusted, the one who had read her bedtime stories and drove her to school. The one who hurt her the most, betraying her trust as he shredded her skin and turned her into a map of terror for his own sick beliefs. My dick just wasn’t going to cut it until she’d processed some of that.

  “What’re we doing here?” she says, frowning as I hand her the fire fans and grab a can of gas from the storage cupboard we keep all the flammables locked in.

  I hand her the can as she stands, pushing the sawdust with the tip of her shoe. “You need to get out of your head, and this is how.”

  Tilting her head at me, she flashes me a wry smile. “You just want me to practice my routine.”

  Her routine was perfect. She’d been honing it for the last five years. It had been the focus of her energy, her ticket into the Carnaval, and she’d clearly thrown everything she had into it. You could feel every emotion as she danced, every repressed feeling came to the surface as her feet moved to the beat and her body rippled with the flames.

  Putting two fingers on her forehead, I push her backwards into the center of the tent. “Practice wouldn’t hurt, but no. I want you to burn off the anger you have, and then when you’re ready to feel alive again, I’ll be here.”

  As I step back, she reaches out and grabs one of my braces, blue eyes panic-filled as she tries to pull me closer. “I need the pain.”

  She wants me to use the knife, to break the skin and draw blood. She feels like she’s losing control, but she’s not. I need her to understand that she has mastery over her own body, no one else. Not even me.