Kiss The Villain: Chapter 2

The reason I’ve kept my mask on for almost twenty-two years isn’t due to a coincidence.

Or a lack of observation by my parents, teachers, or any of the adults in my life.

It’s not an accident or something I’ve grown into.

It’s a conscious decision I made when I was younger, and I’ve done everything necessary to make sure the image stays in place.

Mostly because I plot ahead.

Way ahead.

I don’t move without having plans for all the variables in the equation. Multiple plans. So if one fails, I have several more to fall back on.

But tonight, I didn’t count on Yulian being substituted.

It’s not like him. At all. If he’d figured out I roofied his drink, he would’ve faced me head-on and tried to bash my head in.

He’s not a coward, and he definitely loves using his fists.

So it’s not Yulian who’s behind this mishap. It’s the guy holding a gun to my temple, his chest emanating repulsive heat at my back.

He better not touch me.

I consider opening the door and leaving anyway, but I only plan to die in my sixties, so being killed now would be getting in the way of that plan.

Letting my hand fall, I turn around in one swift movement and swing my knife, aiming at his throat.

A silenced shot pierces my ear and the knife flies from my hand. My wrist jerks and I let it rest at my side as drops of blood fall on the beige carpet.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Motherfucker shot the handle of the knife, and while the bullet didn’t hit me, it grazed me.

Pain throbs on the side of my hand, and I briefly close my eyes, trying not to get consumed with the pain. If I do, I’ll have this urge to inflict it ten times worse.

“Look what you’ve done.” Yulian’s imposter’s deep voice rings out like a calm mock. “That wasn’t necessary, now, was it?”

When I open my eyes, he’s close.

Closer than anyone should get to my person after attacking me. Because I’m staring at his pulse point, and I want to bite and rip the flesh out like a rabid dog.

My jaw clenches and I shove the demons back where they came from and stare at him.

Not at his chest or the peculiar snake tattoo, but at the mask with golden serpents that should only be Yulian’s.

Was this a trap?

“Now, how about we pick up where we left off?” His breath, a mixture of whiskey and mint, penetrates my senses through my mask’s holes. It takes all my control not to slam my head into his so he’ll back the fuck off.

The silencer attached to his gun lifts my mask and lingers at my mouth, the cold metal brushing against my warm skin for a beat too long. It presses into my lips, the chill sinking into my flesh, but it fails to trigger any emotions.

I don’t possess the notion of fear. That switch just doesn’t exist in my brain. Not even when being held at gunpoint.

Anger, however? Yeah, that one I have in spades, and it’s mounting the more this motherfucker holds a gun to my face.

I remain still, though, breathing as steadily as possible.

Any sudden movement could lead to my death, and due to the silencer, no one at this party would be the wiser. This fucking waste of space proved that he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger, and I don’t want to try my luck.

The silencer leaves my lips and he flips off my mask, letting it clatter on the floor.

Here we go again.

My least favorite shit.

Unmasking.

Showing my beautifully proportionate face. Shiny blond hair and ‘enchanting green eyes,’ as many describe them—though they look brown right now.

I’ve often been called the personification of a Prince Charming with my classically handsome face, dimpled smile, and welcoming appearance.

They’re all weapons in my arsenal.

The man pauses as he watches me. They all do. Men and women alike. I’m just that irresistible.

This one in particular doesn’t look like he wants to fuck me, though. His gray eyes, the color of rainstorms and hurricanes, remain impassive as he flips my face back and forth with the gun.

As if he’s looking for something. What, I don’t know, and I’m not interested to find out.

Because I don’t like those eyes.

Call it hate at first sight.

Why?

They lack color, and it’s not only because of the cloudy gray. They truly seem dead, and he’s not—dead, I mean. He should have some respect for the dead and stop those eyes from being so empty. That way, I can fantasize about turning them lifeless.

His gun lifts my chin and I struggle to continue staring at him and not the ceiling. “Such a pretty face for a grotesque personality.”

Grotesque.

Did this motherfucking piece of shit call me grotesque?

Me? The best-looking person I know?

Maybe I need to rip his pulse the fuck off, after all.

“It looks like you despise my wording.” A smile slips into his tone and I find something else I hate.

The deep rumble in his voice. The dispassionate, neutral, and absolutely monotonous way he speaks, as if he can’t be bothered to inject any emotions into it.

It rings again as his breath skims my mouth. “But I wouldn’t have used it if it weren’t true.”

I stare at him like he’s a robot—and maybe he is.

“Allow me to elaborate. You came here with a vile plan up your sleeve. It started with drugging Yulian’s drink and patiently waiting for him to break away from the others. I waited to see what you intended to do with him, but you stopped midway. So the suspense is killing me.”

I start to lift my thumb to my mouth, then allow my hand to remain down.

He’s been watching me.

While I was focused on Yulian, this fucking asshole was watching me.

The audacity to stalk the stalker.

The damn fucking nerve.

“Are you one of his guards?” I speak for the first time tonight. “You don’t sound Russian.”

Most of Yulian’s guards, like ours, are supplied by the Russian mafia and usually have a very thick accent.

He doesn’t.

If anything, he’s more refined and has a slow, precise way of speaking. He also sounds and seems older than me, so he could be a retired military member turned security guard. Though his speech is a bit too sophisticated for someone with a stereotypical military background.

“Why?” That mocking edge returns to his voice. “You prefer Russians?”

“I prefer to leave if you don’t mind.” I smile, putting my charming persona on display, along with my seemingly irresistible dimples.

It doesn’t affect the prick whatsoever. There’s no loosening of his gun nor any change in those unsightly dead eyes of his.

He cocks his head to the side, leaning so close that my nostrils flood with his revolting male scent, like amber with a hint of something woodsy. “Not before you tell me what you had in mind for Yulian.”

“Just some harmless fun.”

“No harmless fun includes drugging and cutting clothes.” His gun digs harder into my skin, the pain making me grind my teeth. “You know what I think?”

“Not interested. Thanks.”

He ignores my words and steps into my space. “I think you planned something disgusting.”

I peer down and pause. He’s half naked. He must’ve discarded the tatters of his shirt and is now only wearing black slacks. He’s tall with a couple inches on me and definitely broader. The snake looks menacing coupled with his mask, and I want to unmask him, too. To see the face of the man who dares to hunt me.

“Something that fits that grotesque personality of yours,” he continues, shoving his gun against my mouth.

I let my lips fall open so that he doesn’t break my teeth, all the while considering if my plan to die at sixty is that important, because I’m starting to think being shot would be worth it if I get to punch this motherfucker who called me grotesque.

Twice.

The muzzle of the gun rests against my tongue and he rams it farther until it slams against the back of my throat, and I stay calm as my breath is confiscated.

The surest way to start choking? Losing your cool—which is something foreign to me. It’s not even a thing I can pretend or mask.

“No gag reflex. Interesting.” His rough voice smothers the ringing in my ears.

And then something strange happens.

Those gray eyes? The ones that haven’t changed and resemble a dead person’s?

They’re not completely empty now. Something shifts, the slightest bit, and I see a flash of light. A gleam in the darkness.

It’s so fast and fleeting, I’d question my eyes if I had the ability to doubt myself.

“But do you know what’s more interesting?” He pulls the gun from my mouth and taps it on my lips, smearing them with my own saliva, then thoroughly wipes it on my shirt, close to my heart.

On purpose.

To make me see that I disgust him, hence the excessive wiping, and he’s doing it near my heart so that I know he could shoot at any second. He even has his finger on the trigger.

Sick motherfucker.

He’s proficient at messing with people and pushing their buttons, it seems. If it were anyone else, they’d be trembling at the very least and begging to be released at most.

Too bad for him that I don’t do that.

But he better watch his back after I get out of here.

“Want to know what’s more interesting?” he asks again with his gun to my throat.

“I’m sure you’ll enlighten me.”

“Such a little brat.”

“Oh my, what gave me away?”

“Watch it.” He presses the gun in further, and I swallow because it’s blocking my trachea.

His eyes watch the movement, mechanically, like I’m a boring game, before sliding back to mine. “You’re not fighting. Why?”

“If I do, will you let me leave this tiresome event?”

A dark chuckle spills from him. “No. But it might make the event less tiresome.”

“That’ll only be possible if you tell me what you want.”

“What makes you think I want something?”

“Surely you didn’t point that gun and play a whole intimidation game for nothing? That’d be an epic waste of your time, and mine.”

“Wasting both our time is the last thing I want.” His gun skims my belt at the same time as he stresses thing.

I grow still.

It couldn’t be.

My fingers start to wrap around the gun, but he slips it out of my hand and jams it against my head. “Touch it again and I’ll spill your brains on the floor.”

“It’s not a shotgun. No brains will be spilled.”

“You believe yourself to be funny?”

“No, I just dislike inaccurate information.”

His gun slides down again, this time over my belt, and my hand twitches, but I don’t reach for it.

Instead, I say in my clearest voice, “Stop.”

“A word Yulian wouldn’t have been able to say if you’d had your way with him.”

I pause.

Was that anger?

Hatred?

Both?

It’s the first time I’ve heard any emotion in his voice and it’s because of…Yulian?

What is he? His boyfriend?

I didn’t know Yulian swung in that direction. Maybe he plays for both teams?

“How far did you plan to go?” The man slips the gun beneath the waistband of my jeans, the tip grazing my stomach.

“I said. Stop.”

“And I asked you a question.” The tip of the silencer trails down to my groin.

And he’s touching me now. His fucking hand that’s wrapped around the gun is on my lower stomach, over the shirt, yes, but that doesn’t negate the fact that this fucking piece of shit is touching me.

Putting his revolting hand that’ll be broken on me.

“Did you plan to ram this limp dick inside him after you drugged him?” He speaks against my face, his mask almost pressing against my cheek, but at least his body is at a distance.

Except for the fucking hand, its warmth unbearable.

“So that’s what all this is about?” I force a smile. “You’re jealous I almost fucked Yulian, who’ll never look in your worthless direction?”

He jams his gun against my cock and I grunt, pain erupting through me.

But at least my theory is confirmed. I’d find the information interesting under different circumstances.

Now, I have to bite my tongue to suppress the pain.

Motherfucker has hurt me more in the course of one night than anyone in my entire life.

I’m going to find out who he is and have him killed. I might not do it myself, but he needs to be eliminated for daring to get on my last nerve.

And touching me.

He’s still fucking touching me.

“So you won’t even pretend otherwise?” His voice darkens, deepening. “Oh, well.”

He pulls the gun out and takes a step back.

Is he going to shoot me now⁠—

“On your knees.”

“I’m good. Shoot me while I’m standing.”

“I’m not going to shoot you, little monster. At least, not yet.” He places a hand on my shoulder and shoves me down so hard, my knees meet the ground with a thud and pain rips through my bones.

“What do you think⁠—”

“Shh.” He taps the gun on my mouth. “I don’t want to hear your revolting voice.”

The fuck is wrong with this asshole? My voice is deep, composed, and always gets the girls hot and bothered. I have a beautiful voice. Everyone knows that.

Every. Fucking. One.

So how dare he?

With the gun to my mouth, he unbuckles his belt with his free hand, and I stare in a rare, dumbfounded moment as he pulls out his half-erect cock.

Did this creep get hard by threatening me? Bringing me to my knees?

The veins on the back of his large hand bulge as he fists his cock.

And it’s a big cock. A bit bigger than mine, to my dismay, and I have a pretty monstrous one.

The thing he has in his hand should be castrated eunuch style.

“Don’t just look.” He slaps the side of my mouth with the underside of his cock, his masculine smell invading my nostrils. “Make those revolting lips useful and suck.”

“That’d be a fuck no. Thanks.” I start to get up, but the grip of his gun hits the top of my head and I fall back down.

“I’m sorry. Did it sound like I was asking? Open your fucking mouth so I can use you like a nameless whore.”

My head and knees throb, but I have a high pain tolerance, so physical discomfort has never really fazed me.

It’s what he called me.

A whore.

Me, Gareth fucking Carson, a whore?

This bitch has pushed every limit and will now die. Thanks for coming to my show.

I open my mouth wide. The thought of letting someone use me, let alone a damn fucking man, disgusts me to my core, and it’s hard not to think about throwing up.

It’s physically excruciating to be in this position and allow a cock into my mouth.

But that’s okay because it’ll only last a second.

The man thrusts his dick in my mouth. “I expected more resistance, but you seem eager to suck cock like a dirty little slut.”

I look him in the eye as I clamp my teeth on his girth. I’m about to bite his limp dick off when he grabs a handful of my hair and tugs me back so hard, my neck nearly breaks.

His cock slips out of my mouth as he points the gun beneath my jaw. “Do that again and I’ll fuck your ass raw. And I’ll make sure you bleed before I blow your head off.”

I glare up at him. “Or you can just let me go, and I’ll consider not reporting you for sexual assault.”

He laughs, the sound unhinged. “The same sexual assault you planned for Yulian? The one I actually have evidence for?”

“One I didn’t go through with.”

“But you would’ve if given the chance.”

“Does a wrong cancel a wrong?”

“No.” The motherfucker slaps my mouth with his cock as he digs his fingers into my cheeks—putting his repulsive fingers on me again. “But it sure feels good.”

He forces my mouth open, and I let him. Mostly because his gun is now pointing at the top of my head, and I can’t die and have this prick move along with his life as if nothing happened.

I also will not be fucked in this lifetime. Will never relinquish that type of control to someone else, and certainly not to him, as I’m sure he’ll make it as unpleasant as possible.

Because his motive is revenge for what I intended to do to Yulian. A tit for tat. A way to make me taste my own medicine.

His cock forces its way into my mouth and I try to stay calm. That’s my strongest suit, so it shouldn’t be this hard.

I shouldn’t have to literally boil with the need to bite him off again.

Harder.

Rip his cock off.

“Watch those teeth,” he says when my teeth graze his cock. “And be a bit more proactive. Suck. Show me how much of a whore you are.”

I glare up at him.

If he thinks I’m going to give him a blowjob, he’s in for a rude awakening.

He must see it in my eyes as well, because he releases my cheeks and pulls at my hair. “You don’t want to? I suppose it doesn’t matter because I’ll be using this hole however I see fit.”

I glare harder. Just get it over with, motherfucker.

Let’s hope he’s not like me and actually finishes fast like the rest of the limp-dicked assholes.

“You need to stop looking at me like that. The way you hate me makes my cock hard.”

I feel it, the veins in his shaft pulsing, his size growing bigger in my mouth until my jaw hurts.

And then he does something.

He thrusts so deep inside, it hits the back of my throat, bringing my face too close to his groin.

I can’t breathe.

Moisture stings my eyes and I hold on to my cool.

But I still can’t breathe.

It’s amazing how the human body is designed for survival. My hands slap on his thighs, trying to push him away, but my strength only allows me to grab onto him.

The edges of my vision blur, accompanied by a hum in my ears, and he starts developing a twin.

“That’s more like it. I love the sight of those eyes dripping with tears.” He pulls back, and I barely choke on an inhale before he rams back in again, my head banging against the door. “Seeing you in such a mess is a fucking turn-on.”

And the sick motherfucker means it.

His dick grows thicker and heavier in my mouth as he thrusts in and out, using my tongue for friction, not caring about the saliva, snot, and tears that trail down my chin.

“You’re surprisingly good at taking cock.” He shoves me against his groin and keeps me there.

Choking me.

Making me touch him.

His zipper scratches my chin, and I claw at his thighs, my fingers desperately clinging to the fabric, his skin, anywhere I can touch.

“Or more accurately.” He thrusts, knocking my head against the door. “You’re good at being used.”

This bitch is going to suffocate me to death.

I’m going to die with a cock in my mouth.

With a man using me.

In a snap decision, I move my lax tongue, licking the underside of his cock, thinking about the blowjobs I get on the regular, then suck. Mostly how I like to be sucked but don’t voice it, because girls can’t or prefer not to do it.

They don’t go hard and deep, to the point it hurts a little.

I think he likes it, because his violent thrusts stop.

My hands wrap around the base of his cock, smudging him with some of the blood, sucking deeper, licking with more passion, wanting to empty him of every last drop of cum.

The man whose days are numbered pulls my hair tighter. “The fuck you think you’re doing?”

He doesn’t like it—the way I’m giving him a blowjob. I can hear the bewildered anger in his voice. I can also hear the roughness and the masked desire.

So I squeeze his cock in my hand, jerking him and then pulling it in my mouth that’s all full of saliva now, making the sounds sloppy.

The idea that I’m on my knees, sucking off a man, is enough to make any other guy spiral, but I push it down.

Because those empty eyes are narrowing, but he doesn’t stop me as I deep-throat him, taking him in as far as possible and using my throat’s movement to bring him over the edge.

His abs coil and contract.

A grunt falls from his lips.

His veins pulse and throb in my mouth.

That’s it. He’s at my mercy now, even though I’m on my knees and his cock is in my mouth.

The sense of power gets me high and I suck and lick, draping my lips along the crown in harsh strokes and a fast rhythm that I’d like if I were being given head.

I don’t think about the humiliating position or him towering over me or even the gun.

I only think about the power in my hands. The way his breathing grows uncoordinated, his fingers pulling at my hair.

My spine jerks, my cock growing heavy in my jeans.

No.

I’m not getting hard due to sucking cock.

That is not fucking possible.

I never get hard if I don’t put myself in the mood. It just doesn’t happen.

“What a fucking natural slut.” The man jams his shoe on my jeans, over my hardening cock, and I grunt against his dick. “Too much of a slut, it seems.”

“Fuck you,” I mumble, but it ends on a groan as he slides his shoe up and down, the friction drawing tingles down my spine.

“You got hard by being used. What a little masochist. Want a hand with that? It looks painful.”

I’d rather he shoot me.

But I do something better.

As he toys with my cock, I do that swallowing thing with my throat on his crown. The one that made him grunt earlier.

And his movements stop.

He grabs my head with both hands, the gun resting against the back of my neck as he thrusts into my mouth a few more times, his rough grunts filling the space.

There’s no other word for it. He uses me.

The wet sound of his cock mixing with my saliva and his precum is deafening. And I hate it, or I really hope I do, because my cock has grown into a full erection now.

By being face-fucked.

Am I turned on?

No way in fuck. I don’t get turned on due to someone else’s actions.

This better be a nightmare.

“You’re such a natural at taking cock, little monster.” His groan vibrates through me and settles in my balls. “This hot, warm mouth is dying to be filled with my cum.”

I want to shake my head, but I can’t, and I’m painfully hard now.

Like it’s not even a joke. For the first time in my life, my erection hurts.

“I’m coming down this goddamn throat and stuffing you full of my cum.” He jerks a few times and a salty taste explodes at the back of my throat and a sticky liquid escapes on either side of my chin.

As he pulls out and tucks himself in, I turn to the side to spit, but he grips my chin, touching me, again. “Swallow every last drop. Waste any and I’ll move to your other hole.”

I glare at him and a smirk pulls on the corner of his lips beneath the mask. “But then again, you might like that, too, considering how you’re so goddamn hard beneath my shoe.”

I swallow as he pushes his shoe further and I’m leaking precum. A grunt echoes in the air and I realize it’s come from me.

Fuck. Have I ever been this hard before?

If he rubs a bit more, I might come in my pants.

What the fuck?

I should think his shoe is dirty, not want him to move it up and down.

He gathers the cum on my chin and presses his index and middle fingers on my lips. “Open.”

When I do, he shoves them inside, curling them against my tongue, pushing all the way to the back of my throat. All the while applying incremental pressure to my cock.

My balls are so heavy, they’ll burst, and I’m still leaking in my fucking boxers. My spine jerks as I rock back and forth on my knees.

“What a little freak. You’re close just due to pain?” He pulls his fingers from my mouth at the same time as his shoe is gone.

And so is the pressure.

All that remains is damn fucking frustration and the infamous blue ball situation I’ve never experienced before.

He leans down and squeezes my cheeks between his tall, lean fingers. My lips part of their own accord and he spits right between them.

He spits in my mouth.

“Little monsters like you don’t deserve to come.” He pats my cheek twice. “Useful hole, though.”

And then he shoves me aside as if I’m a sack of potatoes, opens the door, and leaves.