Page 90 of Bound to a Killer
“Perfect,” he breathes. “Slide your fingers a bit higher until you reach the spot with the most pressure. Hold it there. That’s your clit.”
Another sigh slips out before my teeth sink into my bottom lip, stifling the sounds rising in my throat. My chest lifts andfalls with the slow, measured motion of my fingers, the dull throb sharpening, climbing, spreading the longer I keep going.
“Just like that, baby,” he whispers into my ear, my hips shifting deeper into my touch on their own accord. “Keep those fingers moving, nice and slow, round and round.”
My eyes flutter between open and shut, muscles taut, the delicious pressure building almost to a peak. It’s his hand that I’m imagining touching me, his fingers rubbing my sensitive clit, the deep gruff of his voice that feels so tangibly close. I snap my eyes closed as I imagine him beside me.
His voice is tight, almost choking on the words. “So perfect. Fuck, you’re getting me so hard listening to your sexy little pants. Do you remember the way your pert ass leaned into me before? How your hot, needy cunt pressed into my open palm, begging me for more?”
A harsh breath tears through the speaker, causing the pulse beneath my fingers to tighten.
“I’ve jerked my cock off so many times to the memory of that night. Always thinking of you.”
My breathing falters, vision blurring as my fingers increase the friction.
Oh, God, I’m close. Really close.
“That’s us right now, baby,” he nearly growls. “You, me, that hotel shower. You’re all mine. Especially that tight cunt of yours. That’s me touching it right now, playing with your throbbing clit until your hips buck, shouting with ecstasy.”
The pressure bursts like a dam before he’s even finished talking, multicolored speckles breaking out behind my eyes as strangled moans tear from my throat in rapid succession, the sound foreign even to me.
My lips part, but no words come. I’m too lost in the tightness unraveling inside me, soaking in wave after wave of release until I finally collapse into the mattress, heavy and light all at once.
“Good girl,” he breathes, his voice thick with the restraint, like he’s still holding something back. “God, I wish I could see you right now.”
I lay there for a moment, waiting for my breathing to slow, my chest still heaving from the aftershocks. Turning to my side, I bite the corner of my lip. Warmth trickles through me from head to toe. “Stay.”
I wince the moment the words escape. Then roll onto my back again, my heart thudding louder once it finally begins to slow.
“It’s getting late,” he says, his voice distant, like he’s already slipping away.
The low hum of static through the phone fills the silence, a thin thread still connecting us. Then reality rushes in, suddenly chilling, like being doused in a bucket of ice-cold water. He still thinks he can hurt me, even after risking so much to protect me. What he doesn’t know is that it’s the distance that’s wrecked me most. Not him.
“Don’t leave your bed tonight. Stay warm under your covers and let sleep come to you. Just think of this moment. Erase everything else before it.”
I want to say something, to tell him I want to see him again, that Imisshim. But he hangs up before I get the chance.
My hand drops to the side. I curl in slightly, knees folding closer as I stare at the ceiling. The stark, empty space mirrors the hollowness settling in my chest, holding it there for a beat before my heart stutters back to life.
I raise my phone back and swipe my thumb across the screen to open the camera. My reflection blinks back, flushed cheeks and hair splayed in loose, unruly strands over my bare shoulders.
I smooth out the bulk of the kinks, then snap a photo.
My fingers hover over it for a threadbare second.
It feels reckless. Intimate. Like slipping into an alternateversion of myself I never knew existed. That’s what things were always like around Ledger. Lines were always crossed before I even had the chance to register them.
Halting my thoughts, I hit send, a quiet squeal slipping out as I immediately toss my phone aside, legs kicking up in a rush of nervous energy.
I can’t believe I just did that.
The steady thudding grows louder in my ears, my body still flushed as I nudge the duvet lower, toes curling into my cotton sheets while I wait for a ping to signal his response.
Seconds pass. It never comes.
What if he regrets calling me? I swallow, suddenly feeling my throat constrict. I sensed something off toward the end, his voice tighter, more distant before he hung up. My heart squeezes.
What if it’s the last time I hear from him?
