Chapter 22
Micah
I don’t need cameras or guards to tell me what she did last night. I felt it. I felt her come apart in her room after our meeting. And damned if I didn’t come while stroking myself, her taste still on my tongue.
Her energy is different this morning at breakfast—her eyes heavy-lidded, her cheeks flushed, her fingers trembling when she picks up the plastic fork. I can smell the ghost of her release, faint but clinging to her like smoke.
She touched herself while thinking of me.
I smirk, my eyes boring into her while she does her best to ignore me.
My little murderess, writhing in that narrow bed, whispering my name in the dark.
I’ve replayed it in my head all morning—her hips bucking, her lips parted, her voice cracking as she begs for more. Every stolen glance I give her sharpens the image until I’m hard under the damn cafeteria table.
When she drifts outside during free time, I follow. Bruce trails behind, but he’s distracted by Timmy, who is also outside, trembling by a tree. By the time I slide close, she’s already perched on the bench, her eyes flicking up to mine before she quickly looks away.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I murmur, my voice low enough only she can hear.
Her breath hitches. “I—uh—”
I crouch beside her, close enough that my shoulder brushes hers. I tilt my head, watching the pulse flutter in her throat. “Don’t bother lying to me, Katana. I know what you did last night.”
Her whole body stiffens. She tries to mask it, but her wide eyes give her away.
I smirk, leaning closer so my lips graze the shell of her ear. “Did you whisper my name while your fingers were buried in your sweet pussy?”
She jolts, color rushing into her cheeks, but she doesn’t deny it.
A low laugh slips from me, dark and pleased. “Good girl.” I let the words coil around her like barbed wire. Like a leash, tethering her to me. “Next time, come to my room and let me show you how it’s really done.”
Her lips part, a whimper catching in her throat.
I stand, leaving her shaking on the bench, her thighs pressed tightly together.
Every step back toward the asylum makes my blood pound harder. I know one thing with certainty now—she craves me the way I crave her.
All that’s left is to break her open enough that she admits it.