The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

45

I stare up at Scarecrow, my eyes widening. "Crawl to you?" I repeat in a whisper.

He says, "I'm waiting."

My knees ache as I do as he says, the towel wrapped around me threatening to come loose. I crawl across the room, each step stretching into an eternity. When did this room get so long? Anticipation builds inside me with every moment that passes, my stomach turning to a bundle of nerves. When I reach him I look up slowly, sitting back on my heels, and my breath catches in my chest.

He takes my head in his hands, caressing at first, dragging his thumb across my lips. Then he pushes into my mouth, pressure on my tongue.

"Do you want it?" he says.

I nod, my eyes locked onto his through the gap in his mask. The faint taste of soap on his clean skin floods across my tongue.

"Then say it."

My words come out muffled around his thumb in my mouth. "I want it."

He laughs softly. "So desperate for me, dearest? I think I want to see you beg." He pulls out of me and smears my saliva across my lips. "Beg me to fuck your pretty mouth, and I might do it."

"Please," I whisper.

"You'll have to do better than that, my little whore."

"Please, Scarecrow... I want to taste you."

He murmurs, "I might let you have it."

My thighs clench together, and every part of me feels alive for him. But I can't help but glance guiltily to the bandage around his leg.

"Maybe you should sit down for this?"

His eyes flash through the mask. "Is that a promise, or overconfidence talking?"

I roll my eyes. "It's difficult not to be overconfident," I say, "When you always finish so quickly for me."

Big mistake.

He threads the fingers of one hand through my hair, holding me still, as he brings the tip of his cock to my lips. I lean forward to take him in my mouth, but he tugs me back sharply by my hair, until I cry out. My face is all flushed, my lips red and parted for him, my brows knotted in frustration.

"You want to stop?" He asks softly.

"No," I whimper.

"It's okay. I'll stop."

"No—"

"I'd hate to come too quickly, after all."

"I was only teasing," I plead.

He takes my towel in his hand. "Hmm."

He pulls it away and I'm completely bare for him, granting full access as he grabs at my breasts, purple from the marks his lips left, kneading them in his hand like he owns me. I moan at the sensation and he lowers me until I'm lying down, his hand ghosting all across me, until finally he dips between my legs.

"So wet for me already," he says, while I tremble as he lazily drags his fingers across my clit. "Just the thought of my cock did this to you, sweetheart?"

"Yes," I whine.

He chuckles softly. "Here's what's going to happen," he tells me, kneeling beside my head. "I'm going to play with you, and you're going to give me head. We'll see who finishes quickly, shall we?"

My stomach clenches, his fingers still working on me. I'm halfway there already, and begin to panic.

He whispers, "Whoever finishes first gets a dose of the fear toxin. You okay with that, dearest? It shouldn't be a problem. After all, I finish quickly. Don't I?"