Page 74 of When Death Whispers

The orgasm rips through me like a scream I can’t voice, a brutal snap of sensation that makes my vision go white at the edges.

Stars.

I see stars.

Is this what dying by orgasm feels like?

Is this what my monster has decided for my death?

And still—my monster doesn’t stop. My monster drives me into another climax with frightening precision. Like this is a contest he’d kill to win, even if my death is the trophy. My body convulses, pleasure and pain braided into one burning thread.

I open my mouth, another moan trying to tear free, but no sound comes out.

“Parker!”

The shower curtain rips open, flooding the small space with light.

The moment the brightness hits, the shadows recoil, vanishing in a violentpop—like a rubber band snapping back into place. The overwhelming pressure disappears with them, leaving a hollow ache in its wake.

I collapse against the wall, my knees weak, my entire body trembling with aftershocks. My skin feels feverish, oversensitized from everythinghejust did to me.

And that’s when I remember to breathe.

I suck in air like I’ve just surfaced from deep water—loud, ragged gulps that scrape up my throat. A sob slips past my lips, my fingers clawing at the slick tile, trying to anchor myself. Trying to remember how to exist inside this body.

Fuck.

Fuck. What the hell just happened?

But even as the thought flickers, I already know.

It wasn’t Rad. It washim. Steorfan, Rad called him. My monster. The one who’s haunted me since childhood. The one who used to stalk the shadows of my room, who used to whisper threats behind the closet door.

Only now he doesn't want to kill me.

He wants to claim me.

The realization slams into my chest like a punch. I press my back to the slick tile, gasping, trembling, unable to stop the sobs.

And then I feel it—Not the shadows. Not the cold. But something real. Warm. Solid. Human.

A voice breaks through, low and careful like it’s afraid I’ll shatter.

“Parker.”

Hudson.

I curl tighter into myself, arms around my knees, forehead pressed against them. The steam clings to my skin, suffocating, and still somehow I feel cold all over. My chest hurts like it’s caving in.

I can’t look at him. I don’t want him to see me like this.

Ruined.

Used.

Owned by a monster I can’t seem to fight off.

The tears won’t stop—hot and raw, tracking over my cheeks and down my neck, mixing with the water dripping from my hair.

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