Page 29 of Pose for Me

With a guttural groan, he slams into me one final time, burying himself to the hilt. I feel the hot rush of his release, filling me completely. He collapses against my back, his weight pinning me to the wall as we both struggle to catch our breath.

For several long moments, the only sounds are our ragged breathing and the distant hum of cars and people. The reality of our surroundings slowly filters back in—the coppery scent of blood, the cooling body at our feet, the eerie quiet of the deserted alley.

River pulls out slowly, and I have to bite back a whimper at the loss as I hear the sound of his zipper. He spins me around to face him, his eyes blazing with a possessive fire as he takes in my disheveled state. Without warning, he crashes his lips to mine in a bruising kiss that leaves me breathless all over again.

When he finally pulls back, that wicked grin is back in place. "We can't leave this mess for just anyone to find," he muses, his tone casual as if discussing the weather rather than a corpse. "I'll get Knox to come deal with the body. He's got a knack for making problems... disappear."

He pulls out his phone, fingers flying over the keys as he sends a rapid-fire text. The soft glow illuminates his face, casting eerie shadows that accentuate the sharp planes of his cheekbones and the predatory glint in his eyes.

"There," he says, slipping the phone back into his pocket. He leans down and picks up the discarded knife, casually pulling a cloth from his pocket to wipe it down before he lifts the back of his shirt. His hands are empty again when they reappear, moving to do up the belt that still hangs open at his waist.

He must have some sort of knife holster there.

"Knox will handle this. Now, let's get you presentable, shall we? Then I’ll take you home."

With surprising gentleness, River smooths my dress back down, his fingers lingering on the fabric as if memorizing every curve beneath. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear, his touch feather-light against my skin. The tenderness of the gesture is a stark contrast to the violence of moments before, leaving me dizzy with the whiplash of emotions.

"There," he murmurs, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "Almost as good as new. Though I do like you a bit... rumpled."

His wicked grin returns full force as he bends to retrieve my scattered groceries. The plastic bags rustle as he gathers them up. It's such a jarringly normal action amidst the surreal horror of the alley that I almost want to laugh. Miraculously there are still some unbroken eggs and half the milk remaining in the carton, but the broken shells crunch sadly and the bag and handle are slick with the spilled milk.

River straightens, grocery bags dangling from one hand as he reaches for me with the other. His arm snakes around my waist, pulling me firmly against his side. Not for the first time, I’m reminded of how much bigger he is; I feel small tucked in against him. The heat of his body seeps into mine, grounding me even as my mind still reels from everything that's transpired.

"Come on, gorgeous," he says, guiding me toward the mouth of the alley. "Let's get you home."

As we step back onto the sidewalk, the warm glow of streetlights feels almost painfully normal. A few cars roll past, their occupants oblivious to the violence we're leaving behind. River's arm remains a steady presence around me, his stride confident and unhurried.

I steal glances at him as we walk, marveling at how utterly calm he seems. There's no trace of the feral energy from moments ago, just an easy smile and relaxed posture. If not for the faint smears of blood still visible on both of our skin, one might think we were just an ordinary couple out for an evening stroll.

The weight of the grocery bags swinging gently in his free hand, the warmth of his body pressed against mine, the quiet hum of the city around us—it all feels surreal. Like a dream I can't quite wake up from. Or maybe I don't want to wake up from it.

Chapter 20

River

IguideRaynealongthe quiet streets, my arm secure around her waist. Her steps are uneven, whether from the lingering effects of adrenaline or the intensity of our encounter, I'm not sure. Probably both. I adjust my stride to match hers, keeping us moving at a casual pace that shouldn't draw attention.

The night air is cool against my skin, carrying the scents of the city—exhaust fumes, the greasy aroma of late-night takeout, a hint of rain on the horizon. Rayne's warmth seeps into my side, her body soft and pliant against mine. I can smell the faint traces of her floral shampoo mingling with sweat and sex and the coppery tang of blood. It's intoxicating.

We pass under pools of amber streetlights, emerging into shadows only to be illuminated again moments later. The rhythm of it is almost hypnotic. A few people pass us on the sidewalk, but their gazes slide right over us. Just another couple out and about. Nothing to see here.

I keep my senses alert for any sign of trouble, but the streets remain quiet. Good. Knox will handle the mess we left behind, and I'll make sure Rayne gets home safely. Then I can savor every delicious moment of what just transpired.

As we near her building, I feel Rayne tense slightly beside me. I give her waist a gentle squeeze, a silent reassurance. "Almost there," I murmur, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. She shivers, pressing closer to my side.

We enter through the door that leads directly to her photography studio. The space is dark and quiet, filled with the ghostly shapes of equipment and props. I navigate us through with ease, intimately familiar with the layout from the countless times I’ve been in here without her knowing.

At the door to her apartment, Rayne fumbles in her purse for her keys. Her hands are shaking slightly—the comedown from the adrenaline high finally hitting her, I suspect. After a moment of watching her struggle, I gently take the purse from her.

"Allow me," I say, reaching inside and retrieving her keys in one smooth motion. She blinks up at me, surprise evident in her wide blue eyes. I flash her a reassuring smile as I unlock the door and usher her inside.

The apartment is bathed in the soft glow of a lamp left on in the living room. As soon as we cross the threshold, a streak of gray fur comes bounding toward us. Rayne's cat—Luna, if I remember correctly—meows insistently, winding around our legs.

I crouch down, extending my hand toward the feline. "Hey there, pretty girl," I coo, my voice pitched low and soothing. Luna sniffs my fingers cautiously before butting her head against my palm, a deep purr rumbling from her chest.

"That's... odd," Rayne mumbles, her brow furrowing slightly as she watches Luna nuzzle against my hand. "She usually hates strangers."

I just grin, a secret dancing behind my eyes as I give Luna one final scratch behind the ears before standing. Of course the cat knows me –I've been in this apartment more times than I can count, though Rayne has no idea. Luna and I have come to an understanding over the months.

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