“This isn’t wrong,” he whispers. My hips sway to meet his fingers. It’s teasing through my thick pants. Soren pulls back to stick his fingers in his mouth, wetting them. Then he digs into my clothes. I feel his hand invade my panties. A shudder of shock rolls over me as the swipe of his saliva-coated finger dips between my lower lips.
Soren’s hot breath is against my neck.
“You’re going to tell me what will get you off,” he whispers. I claw at the snow with my gloved hands, rocking my body into his rubbing.
“It’ll help,” he says. I swallow thickly. “You’re dropping after the high, and you’re freaking out.” His fingers grind between my legs.
I rock back and forth. The more I move, the more I’m grinding against him as well. I can feel the swell of his cock against my ass. Can hear the soft starts of groans that he swallows back down.
I press back, grinding against his length. A groan breaks through his lips, coming from deep in his throat.
“Shit,” he whispers, his lips brushing my skin as he speaks. His hips press me harder into the snow, keeping me from moving.
“Tell me what to do,” he repeats. I swallow thickly.
“Faster.”
“Okay.” His fingers do what I ask, and I moan against the snow. “This isn’t wrong.” He keeps talking as I get closer and closer. “I have to do this.” The pads of his fingers press harder as he rubs. I moan again, and he covers my mouth.
“We’re still too close to the house.” I moan into his palm, feeling the weight of him pressing me into the snow. I think about how he caught me again. How I might very well be his. Hiswhat?
The better question is, what aren’t I. That terrifies me. I can’t be his therapist, his researcher, his fake wife, and whatever this is, too.
“You were dropping. I’m bringing you back,” he says, urging my pleasure with determined movements. “That’s all.”
That’s all, I repeat in my head. It gives the situation order and rules. I’m not turning into his fuckthing. This isn’t a sexual relationship in the standard way. Maybe I shouldn’t have given him a blowjob, but when ethics and morals are so twisted, there’s no point but to keep twisting them for the results I want. He didn’t kill tonight. The first night in almost a week. I’m helping him, and I’ll benefit from it, too. If he degrades, I won’t have my research subject.
His breaths are fast against my neck, mimicking mine. He can tell I’m getting closer, and he can’t help but react.
I grip his wrist, holding him tight as I grind against his hand. The orgasm spills over me. My hips move sloppy half circles, pulling his hand in closer.
“Careful,” he threatens as my hips press down, blindly trying to impale myself on his fingers. “That’s not what this is, right Doctor Moore?” He asks, his voice as cold as ice. I rip his hand from my pants in an instant. He’s right. This was just a necessary action after what I did for him. We aren’t in a sexual relationship.
Still, I’m unsure what exactly he’s thinking, and it drives a raging flush to my cheeks. Maybe he doesn’twantmore. Lord fucking forbid a finger slips inside me.
Soren leaps up from my back like I’m on fire and then rips me off the ground. I refuse to look at his face. Instead, I look at his fingers. Which are damp from my pussy. He flexes his hand and shoves it in his pocket. Then turns and starts to walk away. I stare at his retreating back. I don’t feel like running anymore. I just want to go home, and home is Soren’s house.
I trudge after him, following him back.
It’s not until I’m under the covers in my bed, staring at the door, that it all finally hits me. I touch my swollen lips and ask myself if I’ll offer my mouth again. How many times? How far will I go to keep Soren from degrading?
I won’t fuck him. I need control in this situation and control means we aren’t fucking. That isn’t what this is.
I climb back out of bed and grab my notepad. I make tidy columns and list what I hope to gain from all this and what I’m willing to offer.
It takes admitting some things to myself, like how boring I find family counseling. It’s a fine job, and I’m not bad at it. But it lacks satisfaction.
The last time I felt satisfied with what I was doing was before I quit my thesis on psychopathy. And now the universe just gifted me something unreal. An active, psychopathic killer who wants to do interviews with me.
I could make history with a book about Soren. I feel rejuvenated, finally back to wanting to stay up all night researching and thinking. I also feel a sense of relief that I don’t have to keep doing the same daily routine I have been.
I was too young to settle. Who fucking wasn’t?No oneneeds to settle who doesn't want to. Yeah, I was reaching my mid-thirties, and guess what? It was the prime of my life. The newleg of the race. I spent the second half of my twenties and the start of my thirties trying to find a sense of calm. Maybe I needed that at first, but now it’s slowly subduing me into a state of daily dissociation.
Now Soren’s here, bringing a caffeinated jolt to my routine. I was willing to drop to my knees to keep him.
8
SOREN
