CHAPTER 11 #3
Ciara’s eyes darkened, a wild, dangerous heat flaring in them. “Choke me,” she urged, her voice a breathless, raspy whisper. “Squeeze it, Joshua… fuck me harder.”
I tightened my grip slightly, just enough to restrict her breath, to heighten the frantic, beautiful panic of her orgasm.
I picked up the pace, my hips driving into her with a savage, unrelenting force.
With every deep, bottoming-out thrust, her pussy clamped down around me like a vice, milk-warm and incredibly tight.
She squirted a sudden, violent release of sweet spray that splashed across my lower abs and trickled down onto the marble floor. The wet, squishing sounds of our coupling became obscene, perfect, and utterly intoxicating.
I fucked her like that for what felt like eternity, her thick thighs draped over my broad shoulders, allowing me to angle myself so deep that I could feel the head of my cock pressing against the very cervix of her womb.
“Paint me white, Joshua—flood me. I want to feel you pulsing against my cervix, don’t you dare leave me empty,” she fractured, her voice dropping into a desperate, wet rattle that clawed at my neck.
“Fuck, Ciara... take every drop of me,” I growled, my jaw locking as the pressure broke, my soul tearing straight out of my chest.
I drove myself into her one last, deep time, pinning her against the wood as my entire body shuddered.
A thick, hot wave of my semen erupted deep inside her, pulsing into her warmth in heavy, rhythmic waves.
Ciara let out a long, high-pitched whine, her pussy walls milking every single drop of my release, her head thrashing as she came again in perfect, beautiful synchronicity.
We stayed like that for a long moment, our chests heaving in unison, the only sound in the kitchen the quiet gurgle of the coffee maker and our ragged breathing.
I slowly pulled out, a thick, white line of our joined fluids dripping onto the quartz counter. I rubbed the thick head of my cock against her swollen, highly sensitive clit, drawing one last, violent shudder from her body as she squirted once more, her wetness splashing over my hand.
Ciara slid off the counter, her legs visibly shaking as her feet touched the floor.
Without a word, she dropped to her knees in front of me.
She wrapped her lips around my softening shaft, using her warm, wet tongue to clean every trace of semen, juice, and sweat from my skin, sucking gently until I let out a soft, appreciative groan.
“You’re dangerous, you know that?” I whispered, my palm resting warm against her cheek, my thumb gently tracing her jawline while my other hand threaded through her tangled hair. “I’m supposed to be the one analyzing minds, but you’ve got mine completely shattered.”
She looked up from her knees, her eyes shining with a triumphant, wicked heat as she swiped her tongue across her upper lip, tasting me one last time. “That’s because you’re mine now, Joshua. I like my giant weak in the knees, but you know you did your big one on me first. I had to pay you back.”
We showered together afterward, the hot, steaming water cascading over our bodies as we stood under the heavy rainfall showerhead.
It was a slow, deeply sensual affair—we washed each other with gentle, lingering touches, the soap lathering over her rich chocolate skin, my large hands mapping every curve of her body.
There was no rush, no urgency. The wild, primal storm of the kitchen had settled into a warm, quiet intimacy that felt incredibly heavy with unspoken emotion.
Breakfast was delicious. The bacon was perfectly crispy, the eggs light and fluffy, and the strong, dark coffee was exactly what my body needed to recharge.
We sat at the kitchen island, talking and laughing, the warm morning light bathing the room in a beautiful, golden glow that made the entire world outside disappear.
But eventually, the real world came knocking.
After we finished eating, Ciara got dressed, sliding into her own clothes. I walked her out onto the front porch, the cool morning air brushing against our faces.
“Thank you for an amazing night, Joshua,” she said, her voice soft, her eyes holding a warmth that I hadn't seen in a very long time.
“The pleasure was entirely mine, beautiful,” I replied, leaning down to kiss her one last time—a deep, lingering kiss that promised more.
She sauntered down the driveway to her Mark X, her hips swaying in that slow, hypnotic rhythm that always caught my attention. She unlocked the door, promising to call me later, and backed out of the driveway, disappearing down the quiet, tree-lined block.
I stood on the porch, a slow, satisfied smile on my face. I felt incredible. But as my eyes drifted across the street, I noticed my nosy neighbors, the Millers, watching me from their front lawn, their faces filled with a quiet, judgmental curiosity.
I gave them a polite, cold nod, stepped back inside, and closed the heavy oak door, letting out a long, quiet sigh of relief. The warmth of the morning was already beginning to fade, replaced by the cool, sharp reality of my double life.
My phone began to ring on the kitchen island.
I walked over and picked it up. It was Ms. Watson, my administrative assistant.
“Yes, Ms. Watson?” I answered, my voice instantly shifting into its professional, clinical tone.
“Dr. Willis, have you seen the news this morning regarding Amanda Wilde?” her voice was fast, slightly frantic.
“She’s officially been reported missing.
Detectives from the local precinct just called—they’re planning to stop by the office this afternoon to check her patient files and ask you a few questions.
Should I reschedule your 3:00 PM session with Mr. Whitlock to 4:00 PM to accommodate them? ”
My eyes narrowed, a cold, sharp intelligence instantly taking hold of my brain. The game was beginning.
“Yes, please do so, Ms. Watson,” I commanded, my voice calm, steady, and entirely devoid of panic. “And please, do not say anything to the detectives when they arrive. Do not volunteer any information. Let me do all the talking.”
“Understood, Dr. Willis. I’ll see you this afternoon.”
I hung up the phone, setting it back on the counter.
Things were moving faster than I had anticipated, but I was not worried.
I was prepared. The stencil knife was upstairs, sanitized, sharp, and waiting in its quiet, velvet-lined case.
If Amanda’s family, or the detectives, got too close to the truth…
they would simply join her in the quiet earth by the river.
A cold, beautiful smile touched my lips as I headed upstairs to prepare for my day. I would navigate the detectives with the same skill, charm, and clinical precision I used to navigate my patients. No one would suspect a thing.
The madness inside me stirred, sweet, insidious, and utterly perfect.