Page 23 of Look What You Made Me Do

Rolling onto my back, I close my eyes and try to sleep. My mind is whirling, though, and I already know sleep isn’t happening tonight. I keep going over every detail of what happened. And maybe I’m just imagining it, but something about the stranger felt….familiar.

You’re definitely imagining it,I tell myself.

Maybe it’s just easier to think it was someone I might know, rather than a complete stranger.

The memory of the stranger slapping my ass invades my mind, the sting that echoed through my body, driving my pleasure to new heights.

Ugh.

Pushing the thought away, I flip onto my side, and pull the pillow beneath my head, blinking at the darkness. I force my thoughts to something boring, like folding laundry. I’m mentally folding a t-shirt when I hear my phone vibrate against the nightstand. I have it on silent, so it doesn’t wake Alexis up.

Reaching over, I grab my phone and glance at the lock screen. It’s a text from an unknown number.

You’ve been very naughty…

My heart leaps into my throat, and I bolt upright. Who the fuck…? I quickly unlock my screen so I can read the full message.

You’ve been very naughty. You went to the police. You’ll need to be punished for that…

I read the words over and over, taking a screenshot to save to my phone. I’m betting the police can trace the number unless it’s a burner phone or an app that conceals the user’s information. If that’s the case, then I have no idea if they can trace it or not.

I itch to respond, even though I know I shouldn’t. I glance over at Alexis. It’s too dark to see her face, but I can hear her slow, steady breaths, and I know she’s fast asleep.

Settling back against the feather pillows, I reread the text several times, taking in every possible meaning. Finally, after the fifth reread, I type out a quick response, my thumbs flying over the keys before I can second guess myself.

Of course, I called the police. They know who you are, and it’s only a matter of time before they arrest you.

It’s a bluff, but I’m hoping he believes me. The police couldn’t be any less interested in my case, so that statement is about as far away from the truth as I can get. But it’s all I’ve got.

I wait, breath held, for his response. My blood is buzzing, and my heart is flopping around in my chest like crazy. Suddenly, something comes through. It’s a voice memo.

A voice memo? Wow, ballsy.

Sitting up straight, I grab my earbuds from the nightstand and shove them into my ears quickly. If I can place his voice, then maybe I can figure out who he is.IfI already know him, that is.

Swallowing, my hand shaking, I press play. A deep baritone fills my ears, the smooth voice snaking down my spine.

Hello, my little whore. You think you’re safe from me, but I will always find you. And the next time another man touches you, you’ll both regret it.

When the message ends, I listen to it again, and again. The voice sounds familiar, but it's almost like he’s purposefully lowered it a few octaves to disguise it. Either that, or he used an app that altered the depth and timbre of his voice.

Swallowing, I lean back against the headboard, letting my breath slowly leak from my parted lips. His voice. It commands attention, and my mind is cast back to him whispering in my ear as he fucked me.

I glance in Alexis’ direction and I can hear she’s still sound asleep. Creeping out of bed, I walk over to the bathroom. Switching the light on automatically activates a loud exhaust fan, so I leave it off. I don’t want the noise to wake up Alexis.

Once inside the bathroom, I shut the door gently, locking it. In the darkness, I lean back against the sink, and press play on the stranger’s message, setting it on repeat. As his deep baritone fills the small space, I spread my legs, and slip my hand into the waistband of my sweats and panties, touching my clit.

It’s fucked up. I know it is. But as the stranger speaks, I touch myself, remembering how he felt inside me. By the third replay, my toes are curling, and my climax hits me so hard that the breath is torn from my lungs and I’m arching into my own hand.

As a wave of warm tingles washes over me, I pull my hand out of my sweats. Using my phone as a light, I open the little hotel bar soap and wash my hands with it.

That’s when the shame hits.

I’m afraid of this man—I have no fucking idea who he is—and for some reason that fear also feeds a weird sort of hunger inside me.

God, I’m so fucked up.

CHAPTER TEN

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