Page 14 of Fire Fight

Voyeurism keeps me entertained for half an hour as I read through text messages and DMs. There are a few male names listed in her contacts, but they read like a task list. Doctor. Dentist. Garage.

I delete them all, even though I don’t care.

I don’t want her like that.

Not at all.

I’m not thinking about the thin layer of clothing that separates the warm promise of her body from mine. About the few buttons I could easily flick open or the waistband I could drag to her knees.

My headache sends a warning thump, and I refocus on the screen. Either she’s private, or years of sporadic wifi stopped hergoing online. The few photos she’s posted on social media have others captured in the same frame, like the display is for their benefit.

I get bored and rest the phone on the edge of the bed, wondering if I should take an explicit photograph for her to wake to. Maybe send one to her entire address book for a laugh.

My fingers make quick work of her remaining shirt buttons, then I pause as a wave of lust washes over me, sharp and jagged andeverywhere. Like fingernails clawing at my skin.

I leave the sides of the shirt where they fall and place my hand on the cooling skin of her midriff, her reactive shiver so delicious I can taste it. She immediately warms under my palm.

A scent rises from her, and I lean closer, sniffing deep near her hair. Cherry almond shampoo. An odour close to cyanide, pure poison. Mixed with her natural scent, it smells fucking divine.

I inhale again, then sample my way down the rest of her, stopping at her hip, tugging those thin shorts down an inch to inhale the glorious, sweet scent of her pussy.

Enough to make my mouth water.

“Shh,” I whisper as her shiver grows stronger, and she tries to roll on her side. “I’ll keep you warm, baby.” I huff out a soft laugh. “The best I can without setting you on fire.”

My hand cups her pussy, feeling the heat of her through the thin fabric of her shorts. Just the idea of her vulnerability is enough to send blood surging into my cock.

But I can’t afford to touch her like that.

Just one peek. That’ll have to do. I lift the waistband, outrage flooding me when I see she’s smoothly waxed.

Who the fuck is that for?

With a low hum of irritation, I let the band snap back into place, again unlocking her phone to search through themessages, finding nothing more incriminating than I did the first time.

Maybe she swings for the other side. An idea that makes my dick harder, thinking of some sweet thing with pink gloss on her lips eating her out.

My eyes fix on her luscious mouth as I draw back. I wonder if she’d stay sleeping if I rubbed the head of my cock over those lips or did more; jamming inside and fucking her throat until her body bucked, fighting for air.

I shove the chair back, striding to the far side of the room as I press a hand to my chest, heart thumping, ready to explode.

My face is too warm. Far too warm. Giddy with the heat, I twist my knuckle into my sternum, letting the pain grow until it overwhelms the other sensations.

Cadence is dangerous.

She should come with a warning written on her chest.

With a grim smile, I grab a sharpie from her desk and bend over her. Having learned my lesson, I force my eyes to focus solely on the words.

Finished, I add the pen to the growing stash in my pocket, then slide her phone back under the pillow. My knuckles knock against something else hidden under there. Hard plastic. I draw out the bottle of pills, reading the contents with dull eyes, too enraged to be surprised.

The patient’s name is Madelaine Summers.

The same as the pills I found on Harriet. The ones I had to rage and rail and threaten her to get, then do worse to find out where she got them.

When I unscrew the lid and count, only eight are left.

My head thuds, stomach churning. The migraine has returned with a vengeance.

---