Page 40 of Kill, Sleep, Repeat: Vol II

He is everywhere—gripping, pulling, forcing me into him—and I let it happen. Every motion is faster, harder, as if he’s trying to burn through me.

I really don’t mind.

I sink into the rhythm, feeling his breath quicken, his chest pressing harder against mine. He moves with purpose, each push building the heat between us. It’s urgent, intense. It’s exactly what I need.

I close my eyes, let go.

His body slams into mine, the force driving me back againstthe wall. Time must surely pass, but who’s keeping track? The tension rises, unbearable, and I feel myself tighten around it, the pressure building. I let it consume me, riding the wave as it crashes over me.

The release comes, sharp, overwhelming—a storm that shatters and reassembles me.

But he doesn’t stop. His body keeps moving, relentless, pulling me deeper into it. I’m caught in the current, unable to break free. And why would I ever want to? If drowning feels this good, so be it.

We move from the wall, to the desk, to the bed, not that I’m keeping track. I couldn’t even tell you what day it is if I was asked.

When it’s over, the world snaps back, but the buzz still rings in my ears. He pulls back, his face flushed, but there’s no softness in his eyes. He’s still a stranger.

For a moment, I stare at him, something strange and satisfying stirring in my chest. I don’t know why, but I feel…nothing. Better, I feel at peace. For once, it’s not about filling the space; it’s about emptying myself out. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this.

But then I do.

I always do.

Neither of us speaks, which is really for the best.He knows.The way he watches me, like he’s studying me, measuring something in my eyes. I want to look away, but I don’t. It’s a dangerous game, and I’m playing it willingly.

But I’m not stupid. I didn’t come here to get lost in whatever this is. I came here for one thing and one thing only. And I got it.

I push the thoughts of seeing him again, at least in this context, to the back of my mind, focusing on the moment. Just the moment. It’s obvious this can’thappen again.

After a few beats of uneasy silence, he looks toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna jump in the shower. Join me.”

I can’t help but smile. It’s not a question. “I’m good.”

He disappears into the bathroom, the sound of the water turning on almost immediately. For a second, the room feels emptier, quieter. And then I feel the stir of something that’s been there all along—an itch I need to scratch.

I’ve got work to do, and I can’t afford to waste time.

I move quickly, slipping off the bed without making a sound. I dress and then grab my purse from the dresser and start toward the door, fingers brushing over the cool handle. I pause, just for a moment, to listen. The sound of water running. The faintest echoes of him shifting inside the bathroom.

I don’t feel guilty. Not even a little bit. I don’t owe him an explanation. I don’t owe anyone anything.

Without a second glance, I step into the hallway, closing the door softly behind me. No goodbyes. No apologies. Just a quiet exit.

The elevator’s too slow. I consider the stairs, but eventually, the doors open, and I step in. When I exit the lobby, a sense of freedom floods through me. The air outside is cool and crisp. I stand there, feeling what, I don’t know. Content, I think? And I wonder if I’ll ever feel that again. Maybe I don’t need to.

Maybe this is all I’ll ever want.

34

CHARLOTTE

My good mood is short-lived. I barely make it through the front door of my apartment before I realize something is wrong. The faint scent of cigarette smoke hits me first, cutting through the sanitized nothingness of my space. I lock the door behind me and slide off my heels, setting them quietly by the wall. My senses are sharp now, all traces of post-coital peace gone.Someone is here.

The glow from the city barely filters through the drawn curtains, leaving the apartment draped in shadow. I hear the faint creak of leather and then his voice.

“Welcome home.”

My stomach tightens.

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