6. Scream for Me, Kitten
Scream for Me, Kitten
R ex heads straight for his bowl after I open the front door wide enough for him to squeeze inside. I need to take him on walks more often.
“You could give me a minute to get in the door,” I huff. I’m cranky and admittedly horny since the encounter at the raid, and I still didn’t know what the fuck to do about that.
I give Rex a scoop of dinner before heading to the fridge to mix a drink. Rex eats slowly, crunching and chewing each piece and making noises the entire time. I add an extra splash of vodka to the top of my drink, knowing I need to take more than just the edge off before I go off on something.
“Night, Rex,” I say, taking my drink into my room while feeling thankful for the dog door I installed.
Many of the mateless have dogs, and the fenced-in yard comes standard with the home.
My neighbor June thought it was just wonderful that I finally got something to keep me company.
It didn’t help to remind her that Rex is a working dog, which differs from a pet.
She finally stopped talking when I told her that Rex had belonged to my dead partner.
Now, she gives him treats over the fence, and I don’t feel as bad for not playing with him in the evenings.
I lock my bedroom door and set my drink down before undressing. My eyes travel across the room. I only count three blankets. That’s not even close to a dozen. Killian doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.
I throw my shirt into the closet, leaving my tank top, while I work on unbuttoning my pants. Black marks on my thighs catch my attention, and I shove my pants down and step out of them to get a better look.
Are you sad you didn’t get to see it?
My heart pounds against my chest while nervous excitement fills my veins.
On the outside, I appear unaffected as I head into the bathroom to grab a washcloth and flick on the light.
My reflection startles me. I lean in and take a longer look at the outline of a hand, clearly visible, around my neck.
“Dammit, Ghost.” I raise my chin to the ceiling and evaluate the size of his hand. Not small by any measure. My eyes flutter shut, remembering the feeling of his body wrapped around me, holding me in place.
Not small at all.
I take the washcloth back to the bed and grab my kit before settling into the middle. The needle plunges into my skin while I clean my thigh of his question.
Of course, he’s talking about his dick. Am I sad I didn’t get to see it? After a closer inspection of his handprint, absolutely. Am I going to tell him that? Absolutely not.
I reply on my thigh, wondering how long it will take him to notice. A rush of energy washes through me as I draw a line down my inner thigh with crossed lines close to an inch apart. The crude ruler sinks into my skin, and I laugh to myself before getting up to grab my drink.
A message comes in, making me spit some of the vodka out. It looks like he laid his dick on his thigh and loosely traced it like a kindergartener making their first hand-turkey. It goes two-thirds of the way to my knee. Using my arm as a gauge, it matches the length from my wrist to elbow.
“No, fucking way,” I breathe, laughing and shaking my head. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
My phone vibrates from the top of my dresser, and I look around my room, checking there isn’t someone watching before grabbing it.
There is a text message from a blocked number, and I click to open it.
It’s a picture of a giant, hard cock in silhouette.
It’s hard to make out details, but it could be as large as Ghost claims.
I save the image before typing back a reply.
I thought everyone knew not to send unsolicited dick pics.
A message pops up immediately.
Unable to send.
I look at the picture again, wishing I could see it in person. If only for scientific study. I look down at my arm again. The length from my elbow… to my wrist.
“There’s no fucking way,” I scoff, shaking my head in disbelief again.
A message from Ghost appears on the arm I was just studying.
Take your clothes off.
The pad of my finger traces over the letters, feeling warm heat spreading through my body.
It wants me to do whatever it takes to have Ghost touching me, insisting that the fact that he is a killer is unimportant.
Or at least, not a vital point, considering the thought of him ending someone’s life for me only turns me on more.
I blame the fucked-in-the-head mentality of the mateless. Someone who would do anything for me.
It’s all I’ve ever wished for.
I head over to the window, looking out to the quiet neighborhood. Fall is coming, and the sky is getting dark earlier every day. The looming thunderstorm makes it feel later than it is.
If only it would rain.
A lightning bolt streaks across the sky, and thunder immediately follows, making me jump. Rain pours, hammering against the roof as the clouds release their tension. Lightning dots the sky, and thunder rumbles in its wake. Before returning to bed, I shut the curtains so no one can look inside.
I have a choice in front of me, though it feels like there is only one actual path.
My tank top lands inside my closet on top of my discarded work shirt, leaving me in only a sports bra and black cotton underwear. Close enough. I write on my stomach, showing proof of my cooperation.
Done
Several minutes click by, and I am still waiting for a response.
Vodka helps me to fill in the time and push away any nagging voices of caution.
The seconds feel like agony. Waiting has never been one of my strengths.
My nipples are hard under the thin material, just as impatient as I am, until finally, a message comes through my arm.
All your clothes?
Are you watching me?
My reply sinks into my skin, but I am already off the bed and looking around the room.
I head back over to the window, peeking through the curtains.
Through the light of the street lamps, I watch the rain fall in sheets.
The rest of the world has been swallowed in the dark deluge. No one would be out there watching.
I shut the curtains, ensuring the entire window is covered before grabbing a blanket to wrap around me like a makeshift robe. Feeling less exposed, I unlock my bedroom door and open it to check on Rex. He’s sleeping, sprawled out on the couch and snoring softly.
“Some guard dog you are,” I scoff, shutting and locking myself back in my room.
I can’t shake the feeling of being watched, but the thought of Ghost watching me isn’t unsettling. It’s exhilarating. Still, I head into the bathroom, closing and locking the door for good measure. I check behind the shower curtain before opening every cabinet and closet, despite their size.
I face the mirror and allow the blanket to fall to the floor to check for any more messages from Ghost. Nothing.
I smile as I observe myself remove my bra without snagging the kit. My breasts aren’t small, but what they lack in size, they make up for in a gravity-defying position. They hang like teardrops while the metal bars proudly adorn my puckered peaks.
It’s been a while since I genuinely looked at myself in a mirror.
My eyes travel down my waist, even flatter than it was in training. Only because my diet mainly consists of alcohol now, whereas the shit they served in the cafeteria was at least something solid. My body doesn’t look frail, but I could handle a few more substantial meals.
The pads of my fingertips trail down to the band of my underwear, and I slip under it, toying and teasing as if Ghost really could see me. I notice black marks and pull my underwear down to see the message left on my pelvis.
Good girl
Fireworks explode inside me while a plug is pulled out from beneath me.
This is how Ghost knew I wasn’t fully naked, not from watching.
The humiliation from being left on the bathroom floor earlier mixes with the mental admission that I had wished a crazy murderer was watching me take my clothes off.
I reply on my arm with the first thought that pops into my head.
Good girls turn in the crazy, psychotic murderers
A response comes back, written across my chest. The letters are chunky and smeared into place as if written with a finger.
MINE
Through the reflection in the mirror, I watch as a black spot appears on my bottom lip, and I reach up to caress it. A humming-like quality shoots through my body when I touch where he has just touched. The line moves, and I move with it, over my chin and trailing down the column of my throat.
The print of his hand wrapping around my neck turns from red to black.
I imagine him coating his hand in blood, mixing over his palm with his fingertips before choking himself.
The thought makes me squirm. A drip of arousal leaks onto my thighs as my hand wraps around my throat.
I close my eyes as I squeeze, imagining Ghost instead.
It feels like a faint pulse between my thighs.
Opening my eyes, I see a trail of black that moved on without me, and my fingertips resume their trip around the drawn track.
I make my way around my breasts, teasing the delicate skin before narrowing in on the strained peaks of my nipples.
I pinch and roll them, guessing that is what Ghost would do in person.
Visions of him standing behind me, cupping my breasts while he pulls on my metallic bars sends a new wave of slick arousal down my inner thighs.
His trail of black continues down my waist, leaving faint marks from all five fingers, spanning from hip to hip. My touch cannot fill the area the way his hand would, but moving with his appearing marks makes it feel like he lives beneath my skin.
I look into the mirror, taking stock of the black smudged marks covering my torso made by my soulmate.
He has turned me into a macabre piece of art, and I’m in no hurry to wash it away.
His previous words of praise are covered by a thick smudge of dark.
Heat blooms inside me, feeling like an itch that needs to be scratched.
I trace over the mark, my nerve endings firing too intensely from such a light touch, but I can feel him there, too. A black line appears, running down and disappearing between my thighs, and I know what he wants me to do. Thinner and written with a pen’s tip, black lines appear on my thigh.
Make yourself scream for me
I swallow hard, widening my stance as I look down to the stripe, painted like an arrow, directing me toward my slit.
My fingers travel the path laid out for them, continuing downwards to ghost over my throbbing clit in favor of wetting my pads in the pool of arousal first. Once my hand is free to glide over the delicate button, I return, making small circles while I watch in the mirror for his next instruction.
My mind does not have the patience to wait and conceives its own version of events featuring Ghost bursting into the bathroom to take over with his tongue.
My feet shuffle further apart, and I steady myself with one hand on the counter while increasing the speed of the circles I draw after a quick dip for more arousal.
I can feel the orgasm building inside me, making my skin flush and the back of my neck heat. I focus on the sight of my hand between my thighs in the mirror, imagining Ghost watching while pumping his cock with a bloodstained hand.
His hands are stained with blood. Mine are, too, I guess.
I look down at my hand between my thighs, moving my fingers down to plunge two deep inside me. It isn’t Ghost’s donkey dick, but I could imagine him working me up for him, and I scissor my fingers as if readying for the stretch.
Another message appears on my other thigh, and I groan.
Scream for me, kitten
My orgasm overtakes me, obeying the command of my soulmate and forcing a small scream from my lips.
My toes curl as my thighs squeeze together, locking my hand in place while my walls tighten around my rocking fingers.
I wring every drop of pleasure before removing my hand and glancing at my reflection in the mirror.
Black marks and smudges cover my skin, and my hair is tangled and wild. My breathing is hard, like I just finished running a marathon. I will admit it has been a long time since an orgasm shook my world like that.
Hell, who am I kidding? I’ve never had an orgasm like that, by my doing or anyone else.
I want him to sneak into my house, pin me down, and fuck me until I scream like he promised.
Guess that says a lot about me.