6. That’s What She Said
6. That’s What She Said
SOUNDTRACK: Hell Replied by Grey
~ CAIN ~
Her account was active when I logged in. My heartrate kicked up like I’d just snorted cocaine.
She was a fucking drug.
I rubbed a hand over my face and reminded myself that I’d already broken the rules, and it had to stop. Then I clicked on her profile and selected Send Message.
---
***SYSTEM NOTE: CHAT ENCRYPTED END-TO-END. ENSURE ALL ACCOUNTS ARE LOGGED OFF BEFORE DISCONNECTING.***
SleepingBeast: Your safe word is “Villeneuve.”
SleepingBeast: It’s pronounced, “Villa-New.”
DeadGirlWalking: What the hell kind of safe word is that?
SleepingBeast: Good, you won’t use it by accident, then.
DeadGirlWalking: We may have to renegotiate. I didn’t realize I was gonna get stalked by a fancy french dude. Do you wear suspenders and a kicky beret? Is that why you don’t want me to see your face? Because I’d laugh?
DeadGirlWalking: For the record, I’m literally laughing right now. I have a vision of you prancing through the forest dressed like a mime. You’re frolicking.
DeadGirlWalking: Do you frolic, Cain?
SleepingBeast: Rarely.
DeadGirlWalking: So you’re saying it’s happened. I will need video evidence. I won’t show anyone. I swear. I’ll take it to the grave—you can personally make sure of that.
DeadGirlWalking: Wait… our safeword is the last name of a Canadian filmmaker?
DeadGirlWalking: ARE YOU TREY PARKER?
SleepingBeast: * Your* safeword. And no.
SleepingBeast: Also no.
DeadGirlWalking: That’s what Google says.
SleepingBeast: Google is a dick.
DeadGirlWalking: So are you if you won’t let me see you frolic before I die.
DeadGirlWalking: You would seriously deny a dying woman her last wish?
SleepingBeast: Apparently not, since I have a list of supplies for you. But don’t open it until we’re done here.
[SleepingBeast has sent you an attachment: Supply List.docx. Click here to download.]
DeadGirlWalking: So mysterious. My fingers are itching.
SleepingBeast: You should get that examined by a medical professional.
DeadGirlWalking: No thanks. I’ve had enough of medical professionals violating my person to last a lifetime.
SleepingBeast: Pretty sure if they’re violating you, they’re doing it wrong.
DeadGirlWalking: Tell me you aren’t a woman without telling me you aren’t a woman…
DeadGirlWalking: Anyway, why can’t I look at the supply list?
SleepingBeast: Mainly because you ask an annoying number of questions and I don’t want to have to answer them.
DeadGirlWalking: Am I offended? I think I’m offended.
DeadGirlWalking: Nope, it was just indigestion.
SleepingBeast: Just review the list, go find the things. Make the post when you’ve got everything. Don’t post the picture until you have.
DeadGirlWalking: Should I take the picture in my bedroom, or my kitchen? Will you be examining it for clues to where I live?
SleepingBeast: I already know where you live, Bridget.
DeadGirlWalking: Stop. You’ll make me come.
SleepingBeast: Nah. That’s later.
DeadGirlWalking: OMG are you flirting with me?
SleepingBeast: Do you want me to?
DeadGirlWalking: God yes.
SleepingBeast: That’s what she said.
DeadGirlWalking: *Bah dum TISSSSSS*
[DeadGirlWalking is typing…]
---
I yanked my hands off the keyboard and sat back in my rickety desk chair, raking my fingers through my hair.
What the hell was I doing? Flirting? I couldn’t flirt with a mark.
I dropped my face into my hands and breathed for a while. This woman was trouble.
No, she was disaster.
But I didn’t even bother trying to tell myself that I needed to stop and block her. I knew I wouldn’t do it. I’d had every reason to after that shitshow yesterday, and I was still here. I was in. And so was she. I could feel it.
I might be a monster, but I was an honest one. Even with myself. If I was going to do this, I was going to enjoy it. Enjoy her.
But no more flirting.
---
SleepingBeast: I have to go.
DeadGirlWalking: Wait! I was playing! I have actual questions. I don’t want to get this wrong. I don’t want you to stop.
SleepingBeast: Just get what’s on the list and we’ll be golden.
DeadGirlWalking: But is there anything illegal there, or anything that I need to like, get permission, or a prescription, or something?
SleepingBeast: no.
DeadGirlWalking: Can I ask you questions if I don’t know what something is, or can’t find it?
SleepingBeast: You can try. The internet is free. But you’re a smart girl. You won’t need to.
DeadGirlWalking: So, as long as I get everything exactly as its described, we’re moving ahead?
SleepingBeast: yes.
DeadGirlWalking: Can I ask you one question about yesterday?
DeadGirlWalking: Cain?
DeadGirlWalking: its not anything bad.
DeadGirlWalking: I know you're still logged in.
DeadGirlWalking: Okay fine, ignore me if you want to, but I need to know: What cologne do you wear? You smelled divine. I was thinking I’d get you a bottle for Christmas. Arrange to get it sent online or something. A message of thanks from the grave.
SleepingBeast: You need help.
DeadGirlWalking: Duh. Why do you think you’re here?
SleepingBeast: Go shopping, Bridget. Post the pic when you’ve got it all.
DeadGirlWalking: How much time do I have?
SleepingBeast: You expect a trip to a couple stores to delay you indefinitely?
DeadGirlWalking: No, but I don’t know what’s on the list, so if I have to order something and wait I just want to make sure you aren’t going to abandon the plan.
SleepingBeast: You can find every item on that list within five miles of your house.
SleepingBeast: Goodbye Bridget. Sleep sweet and dream of me.
DeadGirlWalking: Wait!
[DeadGirlWalking is typing…]
[You have left the chat]
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I punched the keys a little too hard to close the forum, then confirmed that I was logging out, and went through the process of turning off the VPN.
I was breathing loud. And my heart was pounding.
My mind conjured three different reasons why I needed to log back on and talk to her, but I shook them all off and pushed away from the computer.
I was alone for now, but it wouldn’t stay that way, and I couldn’t risk anyone else catching wind of this. It had been reckless to login on a work computer at all, even though no one else was going to use it. I was breaking all my own rules and it was making me sweat.
And it was thrilling.
As I made myself uninstall the software from the work computer, I kept reminding myself why it was so important to keep myself unentangled from her.
But it was too late.
I dreamed about her last night.
God had a sense of humor. In the dream I’d met her walking down the road with the Pitbull from the gym, because he’d apologized to her and she’d been touched, and they ended up dating. And she didn’t know my face, so never recognized me. So every day I’d go in there and watch them work out together.
I woke up when I saw him lean over her and put his hand on her ass.
I woke up sweating, with a double-chokehold on the quilt, and my heart pounding so hard in my skull that it hurt.
I tried to avoid masturbating these days, but I was hard and aching and raging. I’d needed something to take the edge off.
So, I’d taken hold of myself and remembered how she laid back on that bench in the gym and opened her knees…
I imagined that I was standing between those pretty knees and I reached down, laying my hands over her breasts first, stroking the insides of those soft rounds as her nipples rose under my touch, then sliding down her body, gripping her so tightly my fingers made dents in her soft flesh, until I reached her stomach, then I hooked my fingers in the waistband of her workout shorts and drew them slowly down, down, until I exposed her—clearly ready for me, which made me groan—then revealed her pale thighs. Then I dragged the shorts down her firm calves, took each foot in my hand, and pulled it through the stretchy fabric. And when I had both feet free, I tossed the shorts over my shoulder.
And she smiled at me.
My mouth went dry when she grasped the underside of her sports bra and pulled it up and off, baring both breasts.
My breath got shorter. Heavier.
She arched her back as I slid both hands all the way up from where I’d been cradling her ankles, trailing my palms up the backs of her calves, cupping my hands behind her knees, then tightening my grip and pulling her legs wider as I yanked her towards me.
She squeaked, worried she’d fall off the bench, giggling as she struggled to balance on the narrow pad. But then she sighed as I sat down on the end of it, and grabbed for her, pulling her right up onto my aching lap as I leaned over her.
She bit her lip and reached for my chest as she wrapped her legs around my waist and rolled her hips to bring us together—she was already slick, and I groaned.
My hand was trembling as I slid it under the hollow of her back and lifted her hips, positioning myself, then plunged into her in a single, sharp thrust.
She arched, one hand slapping to my neck as her eyes rolled back and she gasped my name.
Overcome with the perfect pleasure of her, I lowered myself over her, arching my back, grasping the top of the bench over her shoulder and gripping it until my knuckles turned white, using that arm to brace myself and pin her to me as I gripped her hip with my other hand and pulled her onto me with each powerful thrust.
Her nails dug into my shoulders, threatening to break the skin, but I just wanted more.
And the harder I pumped into her, the more her breasts bounced. And her nipples were so hard I felt them drawing back and forth against my chest—
It had taken seconds before my body was convulsing and I was choking on my own cries.
And just a few seconds more before I was sweaty, shaking, and coated in shame.
No.
No, no, no, no, no…
This wasn’t why I was here.
This wasn’t why I’d hunted her down.
This wasn’t what I was here to do.
But I couldn’t stop wanting it. Wanting her. It was a death sentence. And not the good kind.
If I didn’t get myself together, we were both completely fucked.
Or not.
And I couldn’t decide which was worse.