Page 89 of Bound to a Killer
It takes him a second to respond, his voice low and rough when he does. “Good. Keep it that way.”
“Ledger—” I pull my lip deeper between my teeth. “Why did you call?”
“I wanted to make sure you were safe.”
Safe.That’s what he’s always tried to do.
My breathing slows, teeth grazing the edge of my lip, worrying the tender skin until I can’t bear it anymore. I finally let go.
How am I going to go to school after tonight? What will I tell Clara? She’s been so excited about prom, about all of us going together.
Shame rockets through me, heat blooming in my cheeks. “What happened earlier was my fault,” I say quietly into the speaker. “I let him kiss me, and then…” The rest of the words catch somewhere in my throat.
On the other end, I hear Ledger drag in a sharp breath, then swallow, the sound quiet but heavy enough to carry through the line. I imagine the way his Adam’s apple would bob when he did that, how I used to press my face into the warm space beneath his neck, pretending we were fine. Pretending everything was okay.
Hearing his voice again has unraveled everything I spent weeks trying to forget. Every moment. Every touch. The way heused to whisper my name as he threaded his fingers into my hair at night, soothing me from another nightmare.
The heat of his body pressing into mine from behind. That time in the shower, how I trusted him, wanted him, how I let myself love every second of it despite knowing how wrong it was.
I’d forced it all out of my head, convinced he’d regretted it. That he didn’t want me. That’s why he left. Or so I thought.
The rest of my thoughts quiet, hovering just out of reach as I take a leap of faith and speak, cracking my heart open as I finally let the truth slip out.
“I thought I wanted it, but the whole time his mouth was on mine, I was thinking about yours instead.”
Silence spills between us, thick with things I shouldn’t have said but did. Line after line has already been crossed. I don’t care anymore.
“Go to bed, Aria,” he says, his voice tight, a deep gravel, lower than it had been before.
My thumbs hook around the waistband of my jeans instead, slowly yanking them down my body, my skin tingling as the rough material scrapes down my legs. The thrill of him out there possibly watching me right now sends a sharp ping between my thighs that I can’t ignore. I let the feeling win. Let it swallow me. Even if it’s a risk.
I’m down to my panties and bra, my finger toying with the tiny bow stitched into the satin fabric across my chest. My breath catches, oxygen thinning as I raise the phone to my ear again.
“Okay,” I whisper, turning toward my bed. I slip beneath the covers, my skin flushed and aching, molten heat rolling off me in waves, threatening to disintegrate what’s left of me.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice low and hoarse, thick with the same desire winding through me. Both of our breaths turn equally shallow.
“In bed,” I murmur innocently. “Just like you asked.”
He grunts through the phone, followed by a faint shuffle, then the sound of a car honking and a door slamming in the distance. “Have you tried touching yourself before?” he finally asks once it gets quiet again.
Warmth floods my cheeks as a throb pounds between my thighs. I press them together, a sigh slipping out through parted lips. “Sometimes. But I…”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to be shy with me,” he says, softer now.
I ease into my pillow, curling closer to the sound of his voice, pretending he’s right beside me instead of somewhere out there in the dark. “It never feels the same as it did with you,” I admit, tucking my face into the pillow as heat stings my cheeks.
“Stick your hand inside your panties.”
“Oh, my God,” I gasp, fingers tracing the lace at my hips. Already damp, molding tight against my mound.
“I’ll show you how to do it right,” he says, his voice heavy, restrained. “I bet you’re already soaked from us just talking, aren’t you?”
Heat pulses between my thighs. Sharper, stronger, needier. My hand moves before I can stop it, dragging across the fabric. My lips press firmly together to keep from moaning as I reach toward the slickest part of me. I gasp the second I graze the tender pulse, unable to hold it in.
“Tell me how it feels,” he rasps, his voice thick with grit.
“It’s soft…warm…” I sigh, stroking briefly over the most sensitive part. “And really wet.”
