Perfume drifts through the screen, mixing with the smell of old wood.
"Gabriel?" she whispers.
"Confess," I say. My voice is low, rough. It bounces off the walls of the tiny space, surrounding her.
"Confess what?"
"Your sins." I lean close to the screen. "Start with the ones involving me."
Silence stretches.
"I don't know what you want me to say."
"Don't lie to me. Not here." My hand rests on the screen. "Tell me about Ryder."
"I told you everything. He stole from me."
"Not the money," I growl. "That’s the easy part. Tell me the rest. Tell me about the sex."
Fabric rustles as she shifts on the kneeler.
"What about it?"
"Tell me about the nights you lay in his bed," I demand. "Tell me about the times he touched you. Did you close your eyes?"
"Sometimes." Her voice is barely audible.
"Why?"
"Because..." She stops.
"Because why?" I push. "Because he was boring? Because he was weak?"
"Because he wasn't you."
The words hit like a shot of adrenaline straight to the chest. My cock throbs, hard and heavy against the zipper of my pants.
"Say that again."
"I closed my eyes because sometimes I pretended he was you," she confesses. The words come faster now, like a dam breaking. "For months. Maybe longer. Seeing you at Sunday dinner, sitting at the head of the table, looking at me like you wanted to eat me alive... and then going home with him. I had to shut my eyes to get through it."
"Did you touch yourself? When you were alone?" I ask, breathing harder now as all the blood in my body is in a race to see how fast it can get to my dick.
"Yes."
"Thinking of me?"
"Yes."
"Tell me," I command. "Tell me what you imagined I was doing to you."
"I imagined..." She takes a ragged breath. "I imagined your hands. They’re so big. I imagined them around my throat. I imagined you bending me over that dining room table and taking me right in front of him."
Fuck.
Wood groans under my grip. Breaking this screen to get to her feels like a valid option.
"Did you come?" I ask.
