13. Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
J essica
West goes to the wall of cupboards and drawers. He gets out a cloth gown, the kind that you get in the clinic with ties in the back. I’m only wearing a bra since he ripped off my underwear back at the gala. Just like in a real doctor’s office, this room is cold, so I’m grateful for the small amount of warmth the gown provides when he wraps it around my shoulders.
“Why don’t you look around?” West’s voice is a soft, sexy purr.
Hesitantly I follow him, eyeing the medical equipment with trepidation.
“It’s okay,” he encourages. “You can explore.”
I open the drawer closest to me, the one on the end. It glides out silently. My sharp inhalation is loud in the room, where the only other sound is the hum of the security monitors. Inside the drawer are neatly arranged dildos that go from small to large. West’s eyes are on me, likely trying to gauge my reaction, but I don’t look his way. I’m too focused on the contents of the drawers and cupboards that I open one after another. There are sex toys: vibrators, handcuffs, ropes, and other items that I don’t recognize, next to rows of medical instruments. West says the names as I run my fingers over their smooth surfaces. “Forceps, retractors, hemostats, EKG leads…scalpels.”
I hold up something that looks like a tiny version of the jumper cables you use to start a car when the battery dies. “What’re these?”
“Nipple clamps.”
“Oh.” My cheeks heat at that, and a forbidden sort of arousal swirls low in my belly.
Another drawer has whips and what looks like a riding crop.
I jump when West speaks directly into my ear. He’s snuck up on me yet again.
“I don’t get those out much. If I’m going to spank you, I’d rather use my hand.”
“Oh,” I say, which apparently is the only response my short-circuiting brain is able to form at this moment.
His hand slips through the open back of my gown. Gliding along my skin to wind around my waist, he reels me in gently until my back is pressed to his hard chest. Butterflies explode to life as he whispers in my ear.
“I can fulfill all your fantasies in this room, Jessica. Even the ones you’re too scared to imagine, too timid to admit to yourself. You can be your true self here. There’s no judgment. Only pleasure. Only you and me .”
The images his words paint send shockwaves through my body, lighting it up like a thousand suns, warming all the places where I’m the most sensitive. His lips find the tender spot behind my ear. He kisses me there, sucking and licking. I moan, arching into him like a cat in heat.
“I’m going to make you feel so good, Jess. I promise,” he murmurs into my skin like it’s an oath.
“Pick something out,” he rasps softly. “One thing you want to try.”
Fuck.
I’ve lost my mind.
A day ago, I was a normal schoolteacher living with a slightly eccentric and incredibly irresistible man. Now I’m in his sex den picking out which toy to use.
Who am I?
Is this a false version of me, or the most real I’ve ever been?
With shaking hands, I select the nipple clamps and hand them over, unable to look West in the eyes as my cheeks burn with shame.
“Hey.” He turns me so our chests are pressed together, so my heart slams against his. His finger is under my chin, forcing it up until my gaze collides with his. His hand raises to brush my cheek and then tangle in my hair. I draw in a ragged breath. A million emotions battle in my chest. Fear, humiliation, excitement, desire. My chin quivers.
“It’s okay,” he says gently. “You’re going to be okay.”
“I’m not sure what to do,” I confess, as he helps me up on the exam table.
“Play along,” he whispers back. “Remember the safe word.”
Cupcake.
“Trust me,” he says, and I must believe him. That’s the only explanation for why I follow his instructions, for why my core aches for him, even in this strange room.
I watch, captivated, as he lifts a long lab coat from the counter where it lies neatly folded. In hospitals and clinics, lab coats are always white—a symbol of purity, of trust. But not this one. This coat is black, so dark it devours the surrounding light. The choice feels deliberate, symbolic. A silent declaration that this version of West is different. Darker. Dangerous.
Gray eyes study me, and a slow, playful smile curls his lips. “Shall we get started?”
Quickly, he strips the gown off me, followed by my bra.
I’m naked now. Exposed.
I lie on the table with my knees bent. In this position, my pussy is bared to West. His gaze flicks down, and his expression heats. When he gets out the stirrups, he doesn’t have to instruct me. I know exactly what to do. I put a foot in each one and spread for him, as wide as I can go.
“How have you been feeling?” he asks in his professional voice as he washes his hands.
“Bad,” I say, which isn’t true. Since I moved in with him, I’ve been content, happy even, but this is role playing. I understand that. I’m not sure if I’m doing it right, but I want to try.
For him.
For us.
Drying his hands with paper towels, he turns to me with a furrowed brow. “Tell me your symptoms.”
I think quickly, trying to come up with something good. “I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. I’m agitated, anxious.”
His gaze warms with sympathy and understanding. “It’s just as I thought. You are sick.”
“Yes,” I tell him. This, at least, is partly true. I’m nauseous from all his revelations. “I feel awful.”
He shakes his head mournfully. “Poor Ms. Jones.” He pulls two yellow rubber tubes from a drawer and holds them up. “Do you know what these are?”
I squint at them. “Are those the things they use to squeeze your arm when you get your blood drawn?”
He nods with approval. “They’re tourniquets. I’m going to need you to be still for this next procedure. I can cure you, but I need you to submit fully. These will help. Do you understand?”
A flashback to when he tied me to the bed.
You’re beautiful like this. Spread out.
“I understand,” I tell him, proud there’s no waver in my voice.
“Put your arms above your head.” West demonstrates, raising his arms up to the ceiling.
I do as he asks, stretching my arms out long.
He comes up to the head of the table. There are tall silver poles, the kind you would use to hang an IV, on each side of me. Quickly, he ties a tourniquet to each side. He grabs my wrist and tugs it up until it’s at the level of the pole. He wraps the loose end of the rubber tube around the pole and my wrist twice and ties it into a knot. He repeats the process on the other side. By the end, I’m bound to the IV poles with my arms taut above my head.
An experimental tug proves that I have a very limited range of motion. I panic a little. My heart thunders in my chest, nervous and excited all at once.
West steps back and strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Yes,” he says, his voice raspier than usual. He examines me like I’m his favorite science experiment. With a hint of satisfaction, he says, “That’ll work.”
I’m at his mercy in this position. He can do whatever he wants. With effort, I relax into that knowledge. Letting my inhibitions go, I embrace the loss of control. In my regular life, I have to plan and work and strive. Now I don’t have to do anything. I can’t do anything except take whatever he decides to give me.
I stare at him, taking in the curve of his bicep, the width of his thighs, the sharp angle of his jaw, now shadowed with stubble since it’s late.
Fuck. He’s sexy.
What’s he going to do?
Anticipation quickens my breath and pulls my muscles taut.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Ms. Jones.” My heart leaps at his words, then stops when he lays the back of his hand on my cheek. He runs his hand down to my jaw, then pinches my chin lightly, tilting it up toward him. “Gorgeous face.” His hand moves to the sensitive skin of my throat, where my pulse flutters wildly. He wraps his hand around my neck. I hold my breath when he squeezes lightly.
He trails his hand down to my right breast, where he rubs his thumb over my erect nipple, making it peak even more. “Perfect tits.” His fingers warm with friction as he trails them down my side and around to my butt, which he palms. “Sweet ass.” His hand slides around my hip and reaches between my legs, hitting the spot I’ve been waiting for. “And such a pretty little pussy.” With that, his fingers toy with my clit, flicking it rapidly.
I moan loudly. I can’t help myself. His touch sends waves of desire roaring through my body.
“Why, Ms. Jones.” His eyes widen with mock surprise. “You’re drenched. Is this all for me?”
Embarrassed, I turn my head to the side and avert my gaze.
“Eyes on me,” he commands in a no-nonsense tone.
My eyes whip up to meet his frosty expression.
“Don’t look away,” he warns.
Our gazes locked, he continues to stroke into my wetness until I’m panting, trembling. It feels so good, but I want more. I need to be filled, to ease the pulsing hollowness between my legs.
He doesn’t give me that.
Not yet.
Instead, he gets out the nipple clamps and holds them up so I can inspect them. A delicate silver chain connects the metal clips. They’re tipped with black plastic or rubber over the part where they’ll attach to my nipples.
I’m scared. I almost ask him to stop, but he’s already opening the first clamp. He brings it to my nipple, and I wince against its coldness. Slowly he releases it, letting it pinch my tender flesh. I suck in a breath because it hurts, an exquisite kind of pain, the sensation sharp and burning. He places the other clamp more quickly, hurrying now. I bite my lip to stop from complaining as my vision swims with unshed tears.
Pain overwhelms my arousal, but then he’s back, stroking between my legs. West pushes two fingers into me, followed by three. He pumps them slowly, his eyes glued to my face. There’s a war in my body. Pain and pleasure fight each other. Each demands my attention until they all blur into one. Slowly, I relax and let the sensations overwhelm me. The bite on my nipples, the friction between my legs where he rubs faster now. I moan loudly, dropping my legs farther to the sides and arching my back.
West reaches up and gives a gentle tug on the chain connected to the nipple clamps. It stretches out my nipples, making them sing with an erotic buzzing intensity. I feel it then, the heightened desire. How everything sharpens until all the world is forgotten. I’m not me anymore. I’m a wave, a vibration, a shuddering pulse of tension that begs to be released.
“See? It’s good, isn’t it?” West murmurs. The quickened pace of his breathing matches mine.
I glance down and notice a sizable bulge in his pants, between his legs. He sees where I’m looking. I whimper when his hands leave my body. He steps back and slowly, with no change in his expression, unbuttons and unzips his pants. Once they’re undone, West pushes his pants and underwear down his thighs to reveal his thick, erect cock. He wraps his hand around the base and strokes up to the tip where a tiny drop of fluid beads.
“Is this what you’ve been wanting? Will this make you feel better?”
All of my longing for him over the past weeks comes crashing back. I want him, any part I can get. I nod silently.
“Louder,” he demands, his steely gaze flat and his mouth in a straight line.
“Ye—yes, please,” I stutter, intimidated by him. “That—you—that’s what I need.”
“I like it when you tell me what you want.” He rewards me with a rare smile, and my insides melt.
He looks me over, naked and restrained before him. An appreciative lingering gaze that feels like he’s touching me, even though he’s not. He steps closer, kicking off his clothing as he goes. He stops between my legs, which are still up in the stirrups.
A lazy smile this time. “Someday, I’m going to fill up all your holes. You’ll be dripping with my cum by the time I’m done with you.”
My nipples pinch, from the clamps, but even more from his words.
His hands land on my thighs as he continues. “Today we’ll start slow,” he says in a tone like he’s talking about the weather. “Today, I’m going to fuck you until you scream so loud you can’t talk tomorrow.”
Warm hands caress my inner legs as they slide higher until they reach the apex. A thumb brushes over my aching clit. I moan and widen my legs, inviting him in. The tourniquets bite into my wrists as I strain toward him.
“Please,” I plead. “I want you inside of me.”
He circles my clit harder now and whispers huskily, “I like it when you beg. Tell me more.” A condom appears in his hand like he’s a magician and has pulled it out of thin air. He puts it on quickly, then returns to stimulating me.
“Yes, doctor. Please give it to me.” I rock my hips against his hand, needing more.
“Since you asked so nicely.” West keeps rubbing my clit while he uses his free hand to position himself at my entrance. He takes his tip and runs it up and down my center. Up and down. Up and down.
I’m panting now, awash with need. “Please.”
“Such a good girl, begging to be filled up.” He pushes his tip into me, and I come off the table, arching my back.
“Yes,” I pant. “More.”
He pulls out, and I whimper.
“Remember, Ms. Jones, this is my exam room. I’m the one in charge here,” West scolds. He slams into me with a single forceful movement.
I cry out with pleasure. He pushes all the way in, which is easy since I’m so wet. He places his hands on my hips and pushes me back before pulling me toward him with a quick thrust. My back scrapes against the exam table. My wrists are suspended taut above my head. I want to reach out and touch him, but I can’t in this position. He picks up the pace, hands on my hips as he drives into my body over and over again. His eyes glaze, and his breathing increases, short bursts of air. He’s enjoying this.
“Such a dirty girl. You like getting fucked. Don’t you?”
I gasp, breathing erratically. “Oh yes. Please do it to me.”
Without stopping the movement of his hips, Dr. West leans forward and pulls on the nipple clamp chain. Not gently this time. It’s a sharp prolonged tug, but it doesn’t hurt now, just feels good, like he’s electrocuting me there, firing up every nerve. That sensation combines with the feeling of his cock moving inside me. It’s overwhelming, having him stimulate my breasts and my pussy all at once.
My orgasm grows, building from deep in my core and slowly bubbling up to the surface with each of his controlled strokes. When he pulls on my nipples even harder and pushes in as far as he can go, I climax, screaming for him as I come. The sound bounces off the ceiling and echoes around the room.
I open my eyes to see his neck muscles strain. West throws his head back and closes his eyes as he lets go. As soon as his shuddering stops, he pulls out, leaving behind a void.
I get a view of his sculpted ass when he walks over to the sink, where he wets a pile of paper towels. He uses them to wash himself off and then tugs his pants back on. Once that’s done, he comes to me. The towels are warm as he gently wipes the sticky residue of my arousal from between my legs. I’m still twitching from the aftershocks of my orgasm. He releases my wrists and rubs them gently. They hurt with pins and needles as the blood flow returns. When he takes the clamps off my nipples, I cry out in pain. The rush of the cold air over my abused flesh cuts like a knife.
West dims the lights slightly, until the room is bathed in a soft glow, then climbs onto the table beside me. The upholstered top dips under his weight, and I tense, my body screaming with exhaustion and tenderness. He slides his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into him. We fumble awkwardly for a minute, readjusting ourselves, until my head finds its place against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothes the raw edges of my nerves.
I bite back a whimper, my skin aching, my body bruised, my emotions a tangled mess.
“Shh, shh,” he murmurs, his voice a low hum against my ear. His fingers stroke along my arm, slow and grounding. “You did so well, Jess. So, so good.”
His words seep into me, easing the ache. Pride flickers faintly in my chest, a fragile warmth that spreads with every word of praise he whispers. I draw in a trembling breath and nuzzle closer, seeking his heat, his reassurance. His scent wraps around me—clean and warm with a hint of something darker, uniquely West.
As I’m pressed against him, his voice becomes my anchor. He speaks softly, a mantra of devotion and awe. He calls me beautiful, brave, remarkable. His words are unrelenting, sinking deep, filling every empty, aching space inside me. Each one chips away at the lingering doubt, replacing it with something new, something I don’t have the strength to name yet.
My eyelids grow heavier with each gentle stroke of his hand, each murmured endearment. The world fades, the edges of reality blurring, until all that remains is his warmth and his voice.
What we just did—what he guided me through—was foreign, unsettling in its intensity, yet strangely liberating. Now, here in the stillness, close to him, I feel a comfort I haven’t felt in years. It’s as if he’s rewriting my definition of safety, reshaping my concept of home.
Adam
The alley where I wait is tucked around a corner, hidden from anyone passing by on the sidewalk. My hands are covered in thick gloves, the leather insulating them against the chill. I flex my fingers, the material stretching taut over my knuckles with a faint creak. In a couple of hours dawn will break, but I’ll be long gone by then. Back home to where Jessica sleeps, exhausted by her time in my special exam room, my lair. She’d barely stirred when I’d carried her up the winding stairs and tucked her into bed.
The door next to me squeaks on its hinges as it swings open. It’s the back exit of a strip club in the seedier part of downtown. A blare of music cuts off abruptly when the door closes. A man steps out, a cigarette glowing red between his fingers. He tosses it carelessly on the ground, not bothering to crush it under his heel.
I grab him by the arm and jerk him into the shadows. “Don’t you know littering is a crime?” I hiss into his ear.
Dylan snaps his bloodshot gaze to mine. His jaw hangs wide open with shock. “West? What the hell? What’re you doing here?”
I shove him against the graffiti-sprayed brick wall and pin him there with my elbow. “I think a better question is, what are you doing here, Dylan?”
“Uh.” His eyes roll as he searches for a plausible lie.
With my free hand, I tap my chin and look up with my head tilted like I’m thinking. “It’s strange because your wife thinks you’re on call tonight. That you’re staying late at the hospital admitting patients, but I checked the schedule and you’re definitely not on. Hmm . How do you explain that?”
“Uh, I—um—I thought I was on call, so I came down here to—uh, check in on some former patients and—”
Sick of his blathering, I interrupt. “Oh, really? Scarlet is one of your patients? Or maybe we shouldn’t use her stage name. How about her real name, Marcia Crosby. I don’t remember you treating any seventeen-year-olds recently.”
Dylan blanches when I say the name of his mistress. He’s quick to correct me, “She’s eighteen. Not seventeen.”
I laugh, throwing my head back like that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. “Oh, Dylan. Dylan. You poor stupid sucker. Is that what she told you?” I laugh some more, raising my voice to be heard over the scream of a siren as a police car rushes past us. Dylan watches it with hungry eyes, like he thinks the cops can save him.
Idiot .
No one can save him from me.
I stop laughing as quickly as I started, the silence resoundingly loud after my outburst. More serious now, I tell him, “You got played, you moron. That girl is seventeen, which means sleeping with her is statutory rape.” I lean against him and whisper in his ear, “How do you feel about jail time?”
He trembles, his eyes dilated with fear. “No. No, that’s not true. I—she—”
“She lied. Just like you lied to your wife about where you are right now. Just like you lied to Jessica when you were hitting on her to get back at me.”
I can’t get out of my head the sight of Dylan’s hand on Jessica’s arm as she twisted against it, trying to get away from him. How, once she broke free, I could still see the angry red imprint of his fingers on her soft, ivory skin. The memory of it ignites something primal inside me, dark and uncontrollable.
Dylan quickly recovers from my truth bomb about his girlfriend. He’s always been like this. Shifty. Selfish. A real asshole.
“I can’t be checking on some whore’s age,” he whines. “Why the fuck do you care about it, anyway? It’s not your problem.”
“ You became my problem when you touched what’s mine,” I seethe through gritted teeth while rage roars in my ears, drowning out what little morality remains in me. “You put your hands on my woman. You threatened my career. You think I’ll let that go? That I’ll turn the other cheek?” I gather the fabric of his shirt in one hand and shake it. Dylan’s head whips back and forth so hard his neck pops audibly.
“Do you know what happens to people who touch what’s mine?” I lift him by his shirt so that his feet scramble, trying to find purchase, but I’ve got him so high that he gives up and lets his legs dangle uselessly. I bring his face to mine, so close that our noses graze. “Do you?!”
Dylan flops like a fish out of water. “No! No, I don’t know, you fucking maniac. Get your hands off me.”
I grin in his face, secretly glad he’s resisting because it gives me the perfect excuse to punch him. “People, like you, who touch what’s mine get destroyed. It’s as simple as that.”
With my free hand, I make a fist and slam it into his cheek. His skin splits under the impact, and blood runs in a red rivulet down his face. The rage-filled beast inside me roars in approval, happy to be released from his cage. I continue to beat Dylan, aiming my blows mostly on his soft belly and flanks. Don’t want to leave too many marks. A lacerated cheek he can explain away, which will be good for what I have in mind. Even as I’m lost in the mist of my fury, there’s a part of my brain that remains calm, calculating, scheming. I have to be more careful with this one. I can’t totally let go like I did with Brad.
In the beginning, Dylan tries to fight back, but he quickly realizes the futility of it. Soon, he reveals the coward I always knew he was. Cursing, he begs and pleads for me to stop. When my arm tires, I drop him to the ground. He tries to make a run for it, but I catch him easily and shove him against the wall. My forearm goes to his throat, pushing hard enough that his words come out choked.
“You fucking asshole,” Dylan swears at me, squirming. He stops to spit out blood. It stains his lips red, a macabre kind of lipstick. “I’m going to ruin you for this,” he hisses. “Your medical license is as good as mine. Wait until the police and the medical board hear about how you assaulted me.”
“ Tsk, tsk, Dylan.” I shake my head like he’s disappointed me. “You won’t be doing that. Not unless you want everyone, including your wife, to learn about your teenage girlfriend. You fucking pedophile.”
“I don’t care about my wife. Fuck that bitch. I’m going to leave her anyway.” Dylan sends me a triumphant glare, thinking he’s outsmarted me. Without warning, he kicks out, trying to trip me, but I sidestep and he ends up kicking air.
“Aww,” I croon with a sarcastic lift of my brows. “That’s so sweet. Are you planning on making your stripper the new Mrs. Dickhead? Make sure you send me an invitation to the wedding.”
“You’ll get an invitation to your own funeral. That’s what you’ll get.”
“I don’t think so.” I cock my head and give him my sweetest smile. “Remember back at the gala? When you were saying such nice things about me?” I pretend like I’m lost in the memory. “You said I was good-looking and did well in school. Remember that?”
Dylan twists under my grasp, desperate to break free, but it’s no use. I lift weights every day, and I doubt this wimp has seen the gym in months.
Finally, he gives up his wild thrashing. With pure unadulterated hate in his eyes, he grits out, “Get fucked.”
I continue as if I didn’t hear him. “You left out the other thing I’m good at. I mean, sure, it’s not as sexy as those other qualities, but it’s just as useful. Do you know what it is?”
He rolls his eyes, knowing this is a hypothetical question.
“Math. I’m good at math or, more specifically, financial statistics.” I reach into my coat pocket and pull out a thick sheath of papers, which I wave in front of his face. “That’s how I know for a fact that you’ve been embezzling from your physician group. Millions of dollars, from what I’ve uncovered.”
The blood drains from Dylan’s face, a beautiful sight, but I don’t need to see his reaction to know I’m right. People, I’ve learned, cannot be trusted, but the numbers never lie. I shove the papers in his face, unable to hold back my grin. “I have bank statements, wire transfers, and stock trade records that document in lurid detail exactly how naughty a boy you’ve been, Dylan. If I were you, I’d be much more worried about your medical license than about mine.”
If I weren’t holding him up, I’m sure he would slide to the ground. That’s how boneless he’s become.
“Wh—what are you going to do with that?” His gaze bounces between the papers and my face.
“Good boy.” I give him a hard pat on the top of his head, which makes him wince. “I’m glad you’re not wasting my time trying to deny it. That’s the first smart decision you’ve made.”
Now that I’ve got his full attention, I ease back enough that his feet land on the ground. He rubs his throat, glaring at me like he’d kill me if he could.
I’m not offended. If our roles were reversed, I’d feel the same.
“You want to know what I’m going to do?”
He nods, his cheeks an angry red.
“Nothing,” I say simply. “I won’t do anything, as long as you leave this city, actually this state. Get out of Illinois. Take your wife or your mistress or both. I don’t care as long as you leave. Get a new job at a different hospital. You can carry on with your idiocy if you like, as long as it’s far away from here.”
Quick as a flash of lightning, my hand shoots out to grasp his throat. Slowly, I squeeze. “If I ever see your face again, or if you so much as think about coming near Jessica, I’ll make sure you lose everything. Your career, your freedom, your life.”
When I let go, Dylan crumples against the wall, coughing. I wait patiently until he recovers. A couple of ragged breaths later, he blinks at me owlishly. “Really?”
“Really.” I rock back on my heels, grinning. “I don’t give a fuck. Just go.”
His posture slumps with relief. He scrubs his hand over his face with a quiet, “Thank god.”
“You should be thanking me . You waste of space.” I kick, landing my foot on his shin.
Dylan yelps, then hops comically on his good leg, holding the injured one in his hand. Again with the baleful glare directed at me. Just when I think he’ll admit defeat, a cunning gleam sparks in his eyes.
He’s so predictable. All I have to do is think what I’d do if our roles were reversed to know his next move. It’s a thought that makes me pause.
Does that make me as awful as he is?
No, I’m way worse.
“Don’t even think about killing me, Dylan. Do you really believe I’d be so dumb that I wouldn’t have redundancies in place? A way to distribute the evidence against you if something happens to me?”
That fire in his expression goes out, and I laugh, knowing I’ve won. I let him go after that, confident I’ll never see his miserable face again.
Back in my car, I lean my head against the headrest, feeling the adrenaline from my confrontation with Dylan slowly ebb out of my bloodstream. I let out a shaky chuckle.
First Brad and now Dylan. Jessica’s made my life so much more interesting.
Soon, I’m back home. I head straight for Jessica’s room, making sure my footsteps are silent on the metal rungs of the stairs. I’ve come here every night since she moved in. It’s my ritual now, the last stop before I lie down in my bed and try to find the slumber that so often eludes me. Usually, I sit in the armchair in the corner of the room and watch her sleeping, bathed in the golden glow of the nightlight. I take peace from the soft sounds she makes, how her eyelids flicker as she dreams. One night, she even said my name in her sleep. “West,” she said, her voice filled with longing. How pleased I’d been, to know she dreams about me the same way I dream about her.
Tonight, I don’t go to the chair. Instead, I kneel by the bedside, next to her head. It’s been a monumental evening. I can feel the shift in our dynamic. The deepening of our connection.
Softly, so I don’t wake her, I confess all the truths in my heart. “Sometimes I think fate made you just for me. That you’re the world’s way of making up for every shitty thing that came before. If that’s the case, then I’m okay with it. It was worth it, all the pain and suffering, to get you at the end.” Gently I brush blonde waves away from her angelic face. I press a feather-light kiss to her forehead and whisper, “I’ve fucked hundreds of women, but I’ve only kissed one.”
Then I inject the tracker into her neck.
She’s mine now, and I’ll never let her get away.
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