Slashed: A Horror Romance Novella

A moan escapes me the second my lips brush his, and I’m taken aback by the bolt of sensations exploding in my system. Pure electricity travels down my spine, igniting every nerve in my body. I’m a bundle of overwhelmed receptors running on overload. Even my brain short circuits and stops working. When I kissed him, my mind had one purpose: to distract him so I could escape from this corner. But all my concerns and plans faded away with the touch of his mouth.

Silver Mask seems to be surprised by the kiss because his muscles harden and, perhaps unknowingly, the edge of his knife presses harder against my throat. My breath hitches in bewilderment and I freeze for a split second while I process what just happened.

The blade is colder and sharper than I expected it would be for a prop. Not enough to cut, but if he were to apply more pressure, I’m sure he’d be able to slice the sensitive skin open. Effortless and simple.

Hesitantly, I remain immobile with my mouth brushing his; the warmth of his breath leaving tingles on my bottom lip as I wait for the next move. My hand hasn’t released his shirt, clinging to the fabric in hopes he will react soon, that he’ll give me a hint—anything—to show he wants this as much as I do.

Though I’m unable to see his eyes, I picture them blinking when his head shakes and rubs the end of the mask on the bridge of my nose. It’s almost as if he did it unconsciously while struggling to pierce through the shock.

Silver Mask lowers the hand he has on the wall. When I think he’s about to withdraw, he curls it behind my neck and dives in, trapping my lips in a fierce and passionate kiss that matches the energy of our sensual tango.

The leather of his gloves smooth and hot on my skin.

Moaning, I melt against him and arch my spine to seek more contact. I ignore the way the edge of his mask is digging into my nose. Hell, I don’t even think about the fact that he never lowers the prop knife. Part of me craves to feel the pressure on my neck, teasing me in ways I’d never imagined before. There’s something about sensing the possibility of a threat, a the taste of danger, that sends a wave of arousal through me.

A groan vibrates against my mouth when he presses his lips on the curve of my cupid bow. I tremble with desire. The sound shoots straight to my core as he firmly pulls me closer, forcing a noise of delight out of me. My nipples stiffen. His hard and muscular frame emanates heat, and it engulfs me with his presence.

So direct, powerful, and dominating.

It’s both too much and not nearly enough to be satisfying. I ache to merge with him, moving in synchrony. Fuck, I’m blinded by lust, fueled by the raw and visceral need for more.

As if he could read my mind, the thigh lodged between mine hikes up and I no longer have to rock my hips, or even buck them, to rub my pussy on it. Through the layers of fabric, the thick muscles push directly against my sensitive clit, stimulating it. Pleasure flutters in my lower abdomen. The friction is ever so slight, but I shudder like he’s using his fingers on me.

Oh, God, it’s so good.

My hips gyrate with their own volition and grind over him, establishing a rhythm that matches the pace of his sinful mouth. Lost in the overwhelming flush of desire, I use my hands to hold on to his shoulders, steadying myself to reach the perfect angle that rubs the seam of my jeans harder against the right spot. It sends tingles of pleasure under my skin.

“Yes, darling, just like that,” he praises between kisses. My eyes roll to the back of my head, and I welcome his approval. “Keep riding my thigh.”

I whimper, losing focus on what I’m doing. His voice is deeper than I thought it’d be, but not to the point where it’s scratchy like nails on a chalkboard. Only the smoothest wine compares, carefully curated and tasteful. The fact that I can barely see him in the dim lighting makes the sound of his voice send shivers down to my core where my pussy throbs.

“Did I say you could stop?” Silver Mask asks, scratching the front of my throat with the knife. A slice of a threat hidden in his words.

I gasp, and he seizes the opportunity to take the reins of the kiss, sliding the tip of his tongue to meet mine, greeting it with enthusiasm. He tastes and devours, controlling the rhythm and demanding more. The hand behind my neck slides to my chin, grabs it forcefully, and holds me in place so he can annihilate me with his mouth.

Following his order, I resume my grinding. Even though my legs tremble and can barely hold me up. If it weren’t because he’s propping me against the wall, I’d probably be on the floor, unable to remain standing.

He sweeps the tip of his tongue over my bottom lip before he nibbles on it, dragging the swollen flesh with his teeth. Goosebumps erupt over my skin.

Even with his fingers on my chin, I tilt my head back to allow him better access, while seeking a comfortable position for us to kiss. But rubber isn’t the most malleable material, and it’s difficult to return the same excitement when my mind keeps drifting to the mask clawing at my skin.

Without breaking apart from the delicious way his tongue flicks against mine, I lead my hand to his face to remove it. He’s faster. As soon as he realizes what my intentions are, he wraps his fist around my wrist, preventing me from getting rid of the inconvenient rubber.

“No.”

The loss of his mouth is imminent, and I yearn for it. I blink in confusion once I wake up from the broken spell of his kiss. I take a second to realize what he said. It’s so abrupt that I freeze in place. The temperature drops in the hall as the seconds tick by.

“No?” I echo, but my tone is more questioning than imitating.

“Mask stays on,” he states firmly.

“You don’t want to take it off or can’t?” I ask, out of curiosity.

It could be a work policy that I’m unaware of, not that it matters. If he doesn’t consent to be without it, I won’t force him to. I must admit the mask is a major turn-on for me. It’s not comfortable, but it does the job. Plus, I like the anonymity it provides. Though I would prefer full access to his face.

“Won’t.” It’s his only response, and he softly unwraps my wrist to rearrange the mask over his features, hiding his wicked mouth from me. It feels cold and disassociated from the heated moment we were sharing.

Disappointment weighs on my stomach, fearing this has ended before we could explore this further. Not that I had big expectations. I was willing to go with the flow and see where it led, and I ruined it.

Sheepishly, I nod and mumble, “Okay. That’s okay.” But because I fear my impulsiveness has shattered the moment entirely, I dare to ask, “Are you going to remove me from the game now?”

Silver Mask tilts his head, almost in amusement.

“Who said we’re done here?” he muses, a hint of laughter present in his tone. “Because I’m nowhere near done with you.”

To prove his point, he closes in the tight distance between us, allowing his chest to press into mine. His free hand caresses its way down my torso, grazing the swell of my breasts before continuing its path to my right hip. Fingers grip the flesh as he guides my lower body to oscillate on his thigh, establishing a low but steady rhythm.

I’m so turned on that even with clothes on, I can feel the wetness gathering in my panties. I wish there were no layers between us, so I could glide over him and have his warm skin touching aching pussy in the places I desire him most. This—riding his leg like a wanton woman—is satisfying, but not enough.

I need his direct touch—fingers, mouth, cock.

Any of the above, but preferably all.

“Please,” I whisper, closing my eyes to focus on the sensations, hoping they’ll intensify if I move faster, but I fail to rub the spot that makes me see stars. I can’t quite reach it with my clothes on, not like this. I’m millimeters away, yet so far at the same time.

Frustration creeps in, gnawing my bones.

“Please what?” he prompts. “Use your words.”

“I need…” My voice breaks into a whine full of want and desire. I don’t know what to ask for. Knowing what I crave in my mind isn’t the same as saying it aloud. Blood sizzles in my cheeks, flushing my skin. “More.”

Silver Mask hums, the sound vibrating low in his throat. “What else? Say the words, and you’ll get it.” My heartbeat pounds harder. “Look at me.”

I peel my lids open to stare deep at him, where I sense his gaze focus on me. even when I can’t see anything behind the veil of fabric covering the eye sockets of his mask.

“Touch my pussy,” I plead. “This isn’t enough.”

A groan of approval erupts from him.

“What a fucking good girl,” he mutters. “I’ve got you, darling.”

His fingers abandon my hip. Before he continues his journey, he removes one glove to graze the sliver of exposed skin over the hem of my jeans. He teases his way to the front of my pants, enjoying the thread of unintelligible whimpers emanating from the back of my throat. The texture of his bare hand is different from the leather, though not less pleasant. Raspier thanks to the callouses adorning his palm. Silver Mask pops the button open with skill, and eases the zipper down, giving himself space to slide underneath the fabric.

However, he doesn’t dive in the way I expect him to. Instead, he caresses the tiny bow of my panties. If I could go back in time, I would’ve worn different ones—a sexier pair. Perhaps a lacy thong. Something that matches the energy I have tonight. Anything other than the simple black cotton briefs I have on.

Silver Mask seems to find it amusing because he tugs on the bow and says, “Cute.”

A choked moan breaks free when he slips his fingers under the fabric and cups my pussy. His hand covers my heat with ease, brushing the slick folds, and parting them with the pad of his middle finger.

Instinctually, I buck my hips while one of my hands grips his neck to anchor myself. My nails sink into his skin, probably leaving behind a trail of crescent moon-shaped marks in it. He hisses, but doesn’t complain. He wets his fingers with my arousal before he circles the hood of my clit, not rubbing directly or applying too much pressure.

It’s… fuck…it’s perfect.

I’m blinded by the overwhelming sensations exploding in my core. A high-pitched moan rasps its way out of my mouth, and I have no doubts that if anyone were to walk nearby, they’d hear me. I can’t find it within myself to care about other people when I’m lost in the magnificent pleasure he’s giving me.

Silver Mask must be experienced because he rubs me with skill and precision, knowing exactly where to stroke and how to do it.

I bite my bottom lip to muffle the moans.

“No,” he grunts as he lowers his head on my shoulder. “Let me hear you. I want to listen to every sound you make when I touch your needy little cunt.”

Somehow, hearing his dirty talk makes this whole scenario even naughtier. I love how he continues to ramble his filthy words in the crook of my neck, near my ear. I quiver and grip him harder.

In this position, the faint scent of perspiration mixed with the leathery hint of worn cologne hits my senses, and the primal urge inside me can’t get enough of it. Intoxicating and addictive, that’s how I’d describe his smell.

“You’re so good at that.”

His chest heaves, puffing with pride as he continues to circle my clit.

Pearls of sweat wash down my skin, overheating with the impending orgasm building in my belly, rising in tidal waves, each of them bigger than the previous one. I’m reduced to shaky breaths and unintelligible sounds, my system feverish. A warning of what’s coming hardens my muscles.

“I’m getting close,” I tell him. I don’t want to lose it, not when I can savor the sweet release. My orgasm is closing in, tightening my limbs, and causing my breath to hitch. But Silver Mask is cruel and sadistic because he stops giving attention to my clit. “No, no, no, por favor,” I beg, my voice raspy with desperation.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want to come. Please, make me come,” I plead.

He nuzzles my cheek with his face. “See? That wasn’t so hard, right?”

Chuckling, he inserts two fingers inside me, catching me off guard. My back arches, and I tilt my head, hitting the wall behind me. Eyes rolling, I let out a choked moan. The heel of his palm brushes the sensitive bundle of nerves while his digits curve against my walls.

“What do you say?” Silver Mask asks, teasing my throat with the knife as his other hand drives me closer to the edge. “What do you say when you get what you want?” he insists, pressing the point of the blade straight over my pulse. “I won’t ask again.”

I push through the fog in my mind, praying for some clarity. But it’s so hard when his fingers are buried deep inside me, thrusting at an unholy rhythm.

“I don’t know,” I mumble.

“You say, ‘thank you’.” He grits out. “Let me hear it.”

“Thank…Fuck, thank you,” I struggle to pronounce the words, my voice hoarse.

The waves of pleasure increase, and my muscles cramp tight for a second. Black spots appear in my vision, my thighs shake, and I lose control. The only thing I care about is reaching the climax, entering heaven, nirvana, and all the sacred places that would burn with this profanity.

I should probably go to hell, but instead of going lower, the ecstasy lifts me higher.

“That’s right. Thank me when you come on my fingers.”

And I do.

When the tidal waves turn into a tsunami, and the dam breaks with the flood of exhilarating satisfaction, I thank him lavishly until my voice goes raw and gritty. I moan, scream, and seize the release of endorphins. I don’t even notice when I bite the curve of his neck, hoping to drown out some of the noises erupting from me.

He grunts in my ear, accompanying me through the long and earth-shattering orgasm rattling in me. His fingers continue to thrust into me until my pussy stops contracting around him. It’s when he removes his hand from my pants and leads it under his mask to suck them clean.

That alone is almost enough to make me come again.

My mind takes a minute to return to my body, the haze of pleasure unclogging my receptors so I can experience reality. Though still quivering with the aftershocks of my orgasm, I blink rapidly, recovering some clarity.

Dios mío, I’m never seeing heaven after this.

I rake my fingers through my sweaty dark hair, ruffling the strands as I catch my breath. Shifting, I drop my sight to the knife resting on my collarbone, and I touch my throat to check that I don’t have any cuts. I know it’s a fake blade used to create the effect, but I’ll be damned if it didn’t feel real for a second. It’s sharper than any of the prop knives I’ve seen.

“That’s a little sharp for a prop knife,” I speak the thought out loud, my tone light, interrupting the silence that was filled by our panting. “Are you sure it isn’t real?”

He huffs, and a short laugh emerges from him. Leaning in again, he skims the knife from my collarbone to trail up to my mouth, where it stops on my bottom lip.

“We could check if it is, darling,” he offers in a low voice that causes the hairs on my arms to stand straight. “But I fear I might have to give you something to muffle the pretty little noises you’d make,” he muses, and I choke back a surprised noise. However, my body reacts to him, igniting the lust flame again, even when I came less than five minutes ago. At my response, he continues, “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You would love to have me filling your mouth with my cock, keeping you from screaming.”

My pulse drums at a rapid pace against my rib cage. He’s not lying. After the mind-blowing orgasm he gave me, I’m not sure why I haven’t dropped to my knees and returned the favor. But since I don’t want to be the only one playing the game, I choose to tease him too.

Staring deep into his mask, I stick my tongue out and sink lower to lick the blade from hilt to tip, like I’d work my mouth on him if he offered me the chance. All without breaking the eye contact.

That seems to be his breaking point, but instead of letting me be the one to kneel, it’s him who slides to the floor, dropping his knife to the ground. In a swift movement, he undoes my left boot. Before I get the opportunity to ask what the hell he’s doing, Silver Mask hooks his fingers on my pants and pushes them down along with my underwear, leaving me naked from the waist down.

I’m entirely on display for him and at his mercy.

Roughly, he parts my legs, hoisting one of them over his shoulder. His mask caresses my knee and I hiss at the unfamiliar texture that’s exploring the delicate skin.

“Darling, you looked so beautiful riding my thigh,” Silver Mask croons, inching closer and closer to my pussy. “I loved watching you get flustered with need, but right now, I would love nothing more than to watch you ride my mask. I want your scent all over me, so I can remember how it felt when I had my head buried between your thighs.”