Page 27 of Devotion

I draw in a breath, annoyed that he’s so out of touch with my needs that he had to ask, but I shove the frustration down.

“Better.”

Slowly, I feel myself finally getting wet. He nips my collar bone, and my legs fall open when he slips his hand into my underwear, whispering words that immediately strike a chord.

“Good girl.”

All of a sudden, I’m not here anymore. And those words aren’t onMartinez’slips, they’re on someone else’s. I’m back in the fantasy I conjured nights ago. A fantasy that ended with me, apparently, getting myself off with my vibrator. But in that moment, you couldn’t have convinced me I was alone. The stranger I pulled into reality made all the difference. The way he touched me, the way he took care of me, the way he made me come.

Martinez groans, kissing his way down to my breasts as he fingers me, pushing them deep as I squeeze his shoulder at the sound of the stranger’s voice again.

Touch yourself. I want you to push your fingers inside your pussy. Can you do that for me?

My head spins, flickering between the present and the memory.

That’s it, Layla. As deep as you can. Now, let me taste you. Feed me your fingers.

Martinez mistakes the moan that slips from my lips as one meant for him, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. The sound is meant for another man. One who doesn’t exist anywhere but in my fantasy.

“You feel ready to me,” Martinez groans, thrusting his pelvis against me, hinting at his impatience. “Can I have you now?”

With the memory fresh in my head, and with my pussy responding in kind, I nod.

He wastes no time pulling my panties down and slipping a condom on.Then, he’s quick to align himself between my thighs, pushing into me without hesitation. The jolt draws a gasp from my lips as he powers into me, working his hips hard and fast.

He’s still just fucking me for himself, but I shove the annoyance down again because I’ve got better things to think about, hearing the stranger’s voice in my head again as he plays with my clit, taking care ofmefor once.

Martinez shifts, rearing back on his shins as he fastens his hands behind my knees, pushing them toward my chest as he thrusts harder. With more space between our bodies, I reach for my clit, relying on the memory again, inviting the stranger in to join us. Although, no one knows he’s here but me, pleasuring me, doing all the things Martinez either can’t or won’t do.

A few seconds later, I’m actually close to coming, feeling the bud between my legs throbbing against my fingers as I play.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet for me, babe,” Martinez pants, but little does he know…

My hips swivel when the pressure mounts, and a second later, I’m in ecstasy, squeezing my eyes tight as an orgasm detonates little, tiny shockwaves all over my body. But it isn’t until images begin flashing inside my mind that I realize just how out of my head I’ve become. The first is a flash from yesterday’s crime scene—the heart-shaped web carved into her torso. Then, the silhouette I spotted in the shadows tonight, watching me. Some dark, broken part of me drew this imagery into my head at the precise moment of my release, and I’m doing my best not to ruin it by thinking too much.

By questioning what it all means.

By questioning why I’m even thinking about what extremes The Widowmaker went to.

…For me.

Just as I’m starting to come down, Martinez releases a deep grunt as he empties into the condom, slowly collapsing on top of me as he finishes, like his life source has just been drained from his body.

We lie there, hearts racing, and I’m suddenly covered in guilt. Fuckingswimmingin it.

It has very little to do with Martinez being the man in my bed while I hardly thought of him. But it haseverythingto do with my rogue thoughts.

Thoughts that might just be darker than any others I’ve ever had.

I see it again—the body, the blood. And worst of all, I feel it again. The way my unfiltered thoughts likened The Widowmaker’s latest offering to agift.

Shit… What the hell is wrong with me?

Martinez pulls out and seems to notice that I’m spiraling, losing my shit.

“What is it? What’s the matter?” he asks as I roll onto my side, curling into myself, distancing myself fromhim.

There’s no way I’d ever tell him the truth—that I just came while thinking about a murder scene. So, I lie.

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