Iwalk out of my room the next morning, knowing I shouldn’t have accepted Sophie’s offer. We were bonding as only a serial killer and his therapist could. We had a good thing going.
Then I stuck my cock in her mouth. Well, really, she stuck her mouth on my cock.
The tile in the kitchen is cold on my bare feet. I like crisp mornings; they’re invigorating. I plan to make a pot of coffee and then stand on the deck, soaking in the brisk temperature until fully energized. The view over the mountains is the calm I need. I’ll grab a pair of thick wool socks first.
I stop dead in my tracks when I round the corner and see Sophie planted in the kitchen. In the half-awake haze of freshly waking, I fully remember the feeling of her warm mouth. It’s a full-body experience.
She senses me, and her amber eyes pin me in place. Sophie’s clutching a steaming red mug, holding it close to her chest for warmth.
I’m expecting a conversation I won’t like. However, the fact the wedding ring is still on her finger gives me hope. It’s apromise she’s not leaving yet. And if she’s not leaving, then whatever she wants to say to me is fine. Whether it’s yelling at me for getting her off, putting her foot down that the best blow job of my life was a mistake, or even demanding we do hypnotherapy where I tell her all my embarrassing secrets. Sure, Sophie. Whatever you say, Doctor Moore.
Just don’t leave me alone again.
“Was my date the first time you killed?” She asks. I blink at her.
“What?”
“I just assumed,” she says. Her soft lips press to the rim of her mug. Her throat moves as she swallows the warm liquid down. I remember the exact way it felt when she swallowed last night, my thumb pressed against her throat.
A flush creeps across the freckles on her nose and cheeks as I watch her swallow. If my therapist is going to start blushing every time I look at her, this living situation is going to get difficult.
“Um…” I almost ask her about last night but think better of it. She asked if her date was my first murder.
“No, I killed before,” I tell her, moving into the kitchen. I decide to invade her space, testing if she’s going to be skittish. She backs into the counter as I approach her. This is fun. I lean over her body, reaching for the cabinet behind her head. I open it up and pull a mug down. She sucks in a breath and clutches her drink harder to her chest.
This is really fun.
“Can I have some coffee?” I ask.
“This is cocoa. I didn’t make any coffee.” I look into her mug and see tiny floating marshmallows. Suddenly, I can smell the sugar clinging to her lips. She shouldn’t have sucked my cock because now it’s all I can think about. Then again, that was probably her intention. She’s a clever therapist, isn’t she?However, I’m not sure she realizes what she’s getting herself into. Distract me from killing with her body? That is a dangerous game.
“When did you first kill?” She refuses to look at me while I’m so close.
“Sixteen. Everyone thought it was an accident.” I lean even closer, testing if she’ll bolt. I’ve never told anyone about that kill. “It wasn’t an accident,” I whisper. I should stop teasing her. The memory of her mouth is pressing on my skin. Combined with the itchy feeling of letting a victim go last night, it has me feeling on the verge of bad decisions.
I pull away and move to the coffee counter.
“Sixteen,” she repeats absently. “Any more killings before Thomas?”
“Almost. At the airport, when I moved in last month. I left him alive, though.” I pull open the drawer. There are no coffee grounds, and the pods already ran out a couple of days ago. “Beat him senseless, though,” I mumble.
I don’t like that I just admitted to that first kill. It makes me feel exposed. She knows now that I’ve been wrong from the start. The real reason my ex and I split is because she said there was something wrong with me. The longer we were together, the more disturbed and frightened she felt around me.
Sophie isn’t like that. She wants me to be disturbing and frightening. I let out a breath, trying to shake off the discomfort of my own skin.
“I’m going out,” I announce. I want the cool air on my skin, and I want to get away from Sophie.
There’s a precarious line between Doctor Moore and me that I don’t want to mess up.
I don’t want her gone, not only for selfish reasons but also because of her argument from last night, which has beenbothering me. She thinks I’m going to lose myself in this new hobby of mine. If I drive her away, will I lose myself entirely?
She might be the only thing keeping me in line.
The next fewdays are a test of my restraint. I’m trying to prove to both of us that I can control myself in more ways than one. Killing and using her body. But Doctor Moore is following me everywhere, questions falling from her mouth constantly.
“I need to go to work,” I say, trying to breeze past her and out the door.
“I’ll come along. I’d love to see you work. I bet your bedside manner is dripping in that fake charm.” I bristle when she says fake.
