2: In My Fucked-Up Mind

Elena’s POV

“You’re not listening…” My shaky fingers grip Riley’s hand before I can steady myself. “I have to go!”

Her left brow arches and she flashes a naughty grin. “Oh… You’re on fire, huh?” She cackles and chews on her bottom lip. “I knew somewhere deep down, you were a firecracker.”

Jeez!

I puff, arguing with drunk Rey is as useless as arguing with a potato.

But I know for sure that I don't have much time left before my body caves in.

I feel the heat in my belly slowly rise, engulfing me more than I can handle.

I’m trembling, in a bit to anchor myself, my hand squeezes Rey’s hand a bit too tightly, and she winces.

“Easy!” She tries to outdo the loud music. “You’re gonna break my wrist!”

“Sorry,” I mumble and pull back.

The first few seconds have me trying to stand on my own two feet that suddenly feel foreign.

I don't wait to be all stable when I turn to leave. My trembling legs clap whenever I try to double my pace.

“Remember the rules!” Riley yells after me.

‘Play safe.’ I respond in my head, but I’m not about to play ‘hunting the prince charming’ game so I keep rushing for the exit.

“Lena?” I hear her faint voice in the background. By now, I’m guessing she already knows I’m not banging the stranger.

It's already dark, but the street is well-lit, thanks to the bright street light. The night wind is cold, the kind that brings goosebumps to your skin, and clearly, it's not what I need right now.

“Not here, Elena,” I mumble to myself. My legs are firmly pressed, and the tight denim is slowly eating into my skin.

Oh, god.

I don't wait for the cab to fully pull over when I slip in. “Rodeo Drive,” I tell the driver who seems shocked at how I got in. “It's cold.” I lie.

“Oh,” he gives a ‘I get you’ face, then turns on the warmer.

I fake a smile and mumble thanks, but no amount of heat is getting me out of this madness. My hands wrap around my body, fingers beat as I count each second, legs remain locked against my body.

All for one man I should never play close to.

Dominic Mercer isn't just my dad’s best friend.

He’s my mum’s idol.

He had stepped in to save our house after my dad’s embezzlement scandal. The allegations weren't wrong, so when the media came for us, our lives didn't just crash, we also lost our dignity. First, my dad was impeached. In a twinkle of an eye, everything was gone; the private jet, luxury cars, impromptu shopping spree, undeserved vacation… everything.

And the last two years, on my eighteenth birthday, the day my dad’s creditors came for our house, Dominic Mercer had stepped in, cleared the debt, the mortgages, and bought the house in my name as my birthday gift.

Excited, I baked a small blueberry cake, broke my savings to get a bottle of Hennessy, the only thing he drank whenever he visited, and happily bounced to his office to thank him, only to meet the shock of my life…

“Ah-ah, I knew you’d get used to the warmer.” The driver’s voice startles me. “Passengers always do.” He laughs. “You could rent the car for an extra hour.”

“Thanks.” I reciprocate his weird laughter, pay his f*e, and get out.

My art studio is perched at the end of the quiet street. I open the rusty iron door, turn on the switch, before shutting the door. My small place comes to life. A part of it is like a gallery for my display, and the other is where I do the magic… a fake setup to cover what truly goes on behind closed doors.

A tall sunset painting lines the wall, concealing the cracks and secret door to my private studio, the exact room in which all of my dark fantasies are given breath.

The door gives way and I step in.

The strong smell of paint, oil, and sin, hits me.

Sin so thick like the darkness itself.

I can feel it reach for me, daring me to step in, and bury my morality…

The promise of pleasure, forbidden pleasure, is too alluring to resist, not when I literally feel my wetness soak through my panties and damp my jeans.

The light comes on, so do the sultry images of my faceless muse. He’s half-naked in the first portrait, powerful limbs widely spread open as he sits in his office chair. His necktie is loose around his neck, his shirt is rumpled with marks of a lady’s fingers… the kind that rips you apart when they’re extremely horny.

His buttons are broken, revealing his firm muscles, and the start of his sword tattoo on his left torso.

My fingers twitch, wishing to run along the tattoo, and in my fucked-up mind, I imagine tugging his shirt down a bit to get a good view of the mark.

A skinny model kneels before him in nothing but a pair of lingerie, the strap of her thong is shamelessly lost in her butt crack, and her body hunches over as she blows the faceless man.

Another has him completely naked this time, as he bangs a thick ebony slut in a ‘69’ position.

“Oh…” I stagger before I can hold myself together.

Like a beast in heat, I take off my shirt, and everything beneath till I’m bare, then reach to do the same for my jeans. The area where my pussy lies is warm and has a darker shade. I toss it aside and slip off my underwear, watching as my wetness thins out in a form of a fragile creamy thread that links my cunt to my cotton panties, until it breaks and sticks to my thighs.

“Fuck.” I let my underwear drop and I stand in the middle of my dirty, never-should-have-been studio, and in front of a portrait. It's a close-up shot that features only my faceless obsession, from the start of his collarbone, down to his torso, and stops an inch below his knee.

He’s naked.

Feral.

Still, as if waiting for me to kneel. To submit.

Erect veined cock, muscular limbs, muscles hard with years of discipline.

Too lust in my head, I pick up a paint brush and dip it in Linseed oil, rubbing until it's fully coated.

I pause, heart beating, mind telling me to think twice before I unlock this next level madness.

Too lust to be found, I have the brush kiss the tip of his cock, replacing the dark shade of his precum with the sloppy oil, this time, signifying semen.

It’s like a motion picture, waiting to heap his spunk on his filthy good girl… to reward me for being Daddy’s little slut.

And damn it, I want all of it.

ALL.

The oil clings for a moment, before it comes rolling down.

I have roughly thirty seconds to show Daddy that I deserve his reward.

To give myself away like a whore and be ripped apart by my bare hands while I fantasize about him jerking in front of me while he watches me with pity.

In submission, I kneel under the portrait, right beneath the rolling cum, as if begging for air itself.

“This will be my last…” I mumble a weak promise, just to feel good.