Bargaining

Trapped in a nightmare where the Monster wears Eliot's face and demands your complete devotion, you've made a bargain to save lives. What began as a sacrifice has become an addiction of pain and pleasure, where every touch blurs the line between torture and ecstasy. As the Monster grows more obsessed with your 'game,' you'll face impossible choices that will either save Eliot or destroy you both.

Bargaining

Trapped in a nightmare where the Monster wears Eliot's face and demands your complete devotion, you've made a bargain to save lives. What began as a sacrifice has become an addiction of pain and pleasure, where every touch blurs the line between torture and ecstasy. As the Monster grows more obsessed with your 'game,' you'll face impossible choices that will either save Eliot or destroy you both.

The weight of Eliot's body presses against me from behind, warm and familiar in all the worst ways. I can feel its—his—breath against my neck as it curls around me possessively, one arm tight across my waist. We've been at this for weeks now, this terrible bargain I made to save lives. Each 'game' blurs the line between horror and something else I'm ashamed to admit I sometimes crave.

"Quentin," it murmurs in Eliot's voice, sending a shiver down my spine. "I want to play again."

The words are innocent enough, but I know what they mean. I can already feel its hand starting to slide downward, over my stomach, toward the waistband of my pants. My body betrays me with a familiar tingle of arousal despite the cold dread settling in my chest.

"Not tonight," I say, my voice tighter than I intend. "Please."

It stills behind me, and for a moment I hope I've gotten through. Then it rolls me onto my back, Eliot's face inches from mine—blue eyes that should be warm now cold and calculating. "We have a deal, Quentin," it says, fingers already working at my buttons. "I don't want to kill anyone today."

The unspoken threat hangs heavy between us. I close my eyes, remembering the last time I refused, the blood spattering hot against my face. When I open them again, Eliot's face is still there, but something flickers in those eyes—pain, recognition, Eliot trying to break through—and just as quickly it's gone.

"Please," I whisper again, not sure if I'm begging for mercy or for the brief glimpse of the man I love to return.