Page 25 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

Abi’s finger exits my hole, making me gasp at the sudden loss of the fullness he’s offered me most of the trip. He wraps his hand around my wrist, his lubed-up index finger pointed outward like he’s trying to keep my wrist clean. “I did not askhim to send me an image of this man’s perky ass, little one. I would never ask to see another man’s backside.” He lets go of my wrist and squeezes my ass. “Not when I have this pressed against me each night while I sleep.”

“Fuck off,” I say, my voice fading into a whimper. “Put your finger back. Please?”

He laughs softly before sliding inside me again. “The night we met, it was the first part of you I saw. You were dancing on a speaker box, shaking it for the entire room.”

“Yes, well, that was my profession, Abi. I was a go-go boy. It’s literally in the job description.”

“You should have been awarded Employee of the Month.” He digs his finger deeper, squeezing my ass roughly with his palm. “The moment I saw this, I knew I had to have it.” His thumb slides down my crack as he fingers me, making me whimper. “Then you turned around, and that’s when I knew.”

“When you knew what?” I ask, sounding rather breathless, I’m sure.

His lips touch mine for the briefest of moments, and against my better judgment, I find my lips following after his, seeking connection. I lean forward, but when I open my eyes, his face isn’t in front of me. He’s lying on his back, his eyes locked on the ceiling, finger fucking me slowly.

“When you knew what?” I repeat.

He closes his eyes and smirks. Fucking smirks!

“Nothing. We will save it for a rainy day.”

Fine. If he won’t finish his fucking statement, he can just sit there smirking like a fool while I invade his privacy. There are an endless number of unread message chains, but my fingers keep drifting back to Fee’s. I think a part of me wants to find something terrible in there so it can knock me back to reality. Because, this? This thing between us. It isn’t real. It can’t be.

When I open his message chain with Fee again, a wave of dread hits, because I’m pretty sure I’m about to get my wish. Videos. There are videos both on the left and right side of thescreen. I dig my nails into my palm, because if I open one of these and see Fee masturbating, telling Abi how badly she wants his monster cock, I might kick the trunk open and fling Abi onto the unforgiving pavement of Interstate 20.

Taking a deep breath, I click the most recent video, preparing myself for the worst.

On the screen, my sleeping face comes into focus. The flash is on, lighting me up for Abi’s viewing pleasure. It focuses on me for a while, then the camera flips, and I’m greeted with Fee’s sleepy face.

“It took me an hour to calm him down enough to fall asleep. I swear to God, if you ever leave me on overnight Tatum duty again, I’m putting crushed glass in your oatmeal.” In the video, Fee threads her fingers through my hair, her scowl fading into something softer. Something bigger. Her eyes are radiating affection like a mother to her child, and it chokes me up a little. “He misses you, Kincaid. He won’t admit it, but I don’t think he can physically be without you.” She turns her gaze back to the camera. Back to Abi. “I don’t think overnight trips are a good idea anymore. It’s not good for our cheeky boy. Brody and I can split the out-of-town assignments, and you can focus on local jobs. He needs you more than he needs us.”

The video cuts off, but there are so many more. Picture after picture, video clip after video clip, I dominate their messages. There’s a picture of me sleeping in Abi’s lap, with the caption, “Does he look like he has a fever?” Next is an image of me shoving a slice of cheese and onion pizza in my mouth. Abi then asked her if she thought I was getting enough protein, because, and I quote, “our growing boy needs his nutrients.” To that, Fee simply responded with an eggplant emoji and a water splash emoji. Abi responded with a question mark, probably confused. Goddess love my silly, psychopathic golden retriever. He has a way of being adorable without even trying, and it’s one of the reasons this is so difficult for me. I genuinely enjoy his company. I love how he’s the sunshine to my summer shower. Had we metunder any other circumstances, I wouldn’t resist his advances. Hell, even knowing he’s an actual murderer, I’m still tempted to give in.

I peek over at him, not surprised to find him staring at me with a familiar hopeful look on his face. He’s watching me like my mere existence is the single-greatest accomplishment this world has ever known. I snuggle in a bit closer. “Thanks, Abi.” Rather than respond, he tickles my prostate.

“For what?”

I kiss his chest, hoping he doesn’t hold it against me. “For caring.”

Before he can respond, I quickly turn my attention back to the phone. Their messages go back a few months, to right after he abducted me. Though I’ve gone through his phone before, I’ve never dared touch these messages for fear of what I might find. Now I don’t really care. He’s my?—

No. No, we arenotpretending this sham marriage gives me claim to his body. We’re not together. Whatever they do with each other when I’m not around is between them. Besides, the images have all been Tatum-centric, and super affectionate, so I know I’ve got nothing to worry about... now.

Scratch that, because the longer I scroll, the angrier I get. They’re practically throwing themselves at each other. Take this message, for instance. It was sent the night they abducted me. The night he called me his Pretty Baby for the first time. After he unnecessarily claimed his undying devotion to me, Abi spent the rest of the evening telling her the many things he was going to do to her vagina.

I grab his love handle and pinch hard.

“What the hell?” he groans, slapping my hand away.

“Sorry. There was a bug.”

He peeks at the phone screen, grinning like the cat who got the cream. His finger finds my chin, and when he tugs me toward him, our eyes meet. “Sure, Tatum.”

As heat sizzles in my cheeks, I continue scrolling, but themajority of the messages are just pictures of Fee’s breasts. They’re very lovely breasts, I’m sure, but I still delete each image as it appears. If Abi notices, he doesn’t acknowledge what I’m doing. He probably thinks I’m having a temper tantrum, but I don’t particularly give a damn. Her breasts have no business on his phone.

“I bet you jack off to these too, don’t you?” I hiss. “You just masturbate at random to images of her chest. First Tom Daley, now this?”

“Does it matter who I masturbate to?”

“No.” I continue deleting them. Jesus, fuck! How many nudes does one man need? The second Fiona’s lower level makes its grand appearance, I hand the phone to Abi. “I don’t want to look at my friend’s vagina.” He reaches for the button to power his screen off, but I grab his wrist to stop him. “Delete them.”

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