Page 13

The coverall is grey and plain. I cannot tell if I am looking at a man or a woman. The mask is the worst part. White. The whole face gone. Dark mesh over the eyes. A thin cut where a mouth should be. Nothing I can read. Nothing I can kiss.

I cover my breasts with one arm. It does nothing. I am still naked. I am still wet.

“If that’s supposed to be funny, it isn’t. Take the mask off, Rhys.”

Nothing.

The tap again, right in front of me. The close voice comes out of the white face.

“Not Rhys. Not for you. You look at him like you could have him. That is enough.”

I should run. My legs will not move. I am still standing here waiting for a mouth on me.

“Put your arm down,” the voice says. “Show me your tits. Show me your pussy. Show me what you were going to give him.”

I laugh once. It shakes. I do it because this still feels like a sick game, and saying no has never got me out of this building in one piece.

I drop my arm. My breasts are full and bare. My nipples are tight. My stomach is tense. There is trimmed hair between my legs. I am wet. I do not know where to put my hands.

The mask tips a little, like it is looking.

“Pretty,” the voice says. “Come here.”

I step closer. It is stupid. I still want this. I do not try to take the mask off. I lean in to kiss the white mouth instead. I think if I kiss it, Rhys will kiss me back and I will still get fucked on this desk.

A gloved hand catches my shoulder.

“Not yet. On the desk. On your back. Legs open.”

I sit on the desk. The wood is cold on my ass. I lie back. I open my legs because he told me to, and because I am still wet enough to tell myself this ends in sex.

They step between my knees. The coverall makes a soft sound. A glove slides up the inside of my thigh and does not go inside me yet. Then they drop to their knees.

The bone-white face lowers between my legs.

It looks like they are about to put their mouth on my pussy. That is what I asked for on the phone. I tilt my head back and wait.

I am still waiting when something cold touches the inside of my thigh.

For a second I think it is a finger. Then the cold turns hot and a thin cut opens high on my thigh, close to my pussy. Blood runs down onto the desk between my legs. I shout. It comes out like a moan I did not mean to make. I try to slam my knees shut. A glove stops me.

“Wait. Don’t. I can’t—”

They don’t stand me up. They pin my hips to the desk and keep me open. The coverall scrapes my bare breasts. The mask hovers over my face but does not touch my mouth. The other glove goes between my legs and two fingers push into me, wet with blood, and pump like this is still sex. I grab the hood. I can’t pull it off. My hips lift anyway.

“Look at you,” the close voice says. “Pretty when you bleed.”

The blade goes into my belly this time. Blood spills over my stomach and runs down my side onto the desk. The fingers don’t stop. They push in and out of me, wet, rough, and my clit is still under their thumb. I try to get off the desk. I can’t. The sound I make is a sob and a moan at the same time. I come hard anyway, shaking, crying, pussy tightening on those gloved fingers while I try to say Rhys’s name. The last thing I see is my blood dripping off the edge of the desk onto the floor.

“Rhys—” I try.

I try to say it again.

I say nothing.

The desk does not hold me. I slide off. I hit the chair, then the floor.

The mask tilts, listening to me stop breathing.