Heat curls low in my stomach, slow and deliberate, the same way it always does when someone finally understands who they’re dealing with. When power shifts so cleanly it almost feels surgical.
That’s the moment. The pinnacle. The part that makes electricity zing through my veins.
I strip out of my clothes with methodical calm and cross to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, I wait until it runs hot, steam blooming, wrapping around me like a living thing, then I step under it and tilt my head back, letting it beat against my skin, washing away the sterile scent of the facility and the glorious blood from my little playtime.
My breath catches despite myself.
Images rise unbidden. Her defiance. Her disbelief. The way it collapsed under pressure, leaving something raw and human behind. Not the pain. Never that.
The surrender.
My hand slides up the tiled wall to steady myself as sensation builds, tight and insistent now, the heat sharpening instead of fading. I close my eyes and let myself lean into it, into the memory, into the control that still thrums through me like a live wire.
This is private.
Earned.
No one’s coming for me here, and that means I can take my time. I don’t rush. I never do. I let the memories rewrite themselves on the backs of my eyelids, let them tighten and coil and bite inside me until every muscle is trembling with theanticipation of release. I’ve learned not to be ashamed of the way I need this, the way it shatters the monotony of my days and leaves me remade, however briefly.
I listen to the water pounding down, feel the heat bloom and ebb over my skin, and surrender to the slow, inexorable build. It feels almost ceremonial: the way I brace my feet, the way I arch my back, the way my fingers splay against the tile and curl, digging in to hold me steady as the tension ratchets, notch by careful notch.
I slide my hand down my body, tracing the curves and contours, lingering on the sensitive spots that make me gasp. The water cascades over me, amplifying every sensation as I stroke myself, drawing out the pleasure until I’m panting and desperate for something more than my own fingers can give.
I chase the edge and let it run me, let it ride out for as long as I can, wringing every drop of control and anticipation from the experience. I tease myself, eyes closed, lost in fantasies, but it’s not as good as the real thing.
Still, it’s not about the destination – never has been. It’s about the mastery of every second leading up to it, all the tiny calibrations, the exquisite pressure of self-command. I let the images of her break and unspool, let the idea of her helplessness and my own precision fuse into something bright and clean and singular. The moment arrives with no warning, as it always does, dropping me straight through the floor.
Everything unspools at once – heat, pressure, memory – an electric jolt that arcs up my spine and floods my chest, hot and unrepentant. I moan low, the sound swallowed by the steam and the steady drum of the water, and let myself ride the aftershocks until my legs go loose and shaky.
When it’s over, I sag forward slightly, forehead resting against the cool tile as the water continues to pour over me, grounding me back into my body.
By the time I shut the shower off, the excess has burned away, leaving clarity in its wake.
That’s always been the point.
I towel off, dress, and crawl into bed, muscles loose, thoughts finally settling into order. The ceiling blurs as exhaustion takes hold – not the frantic kind, but the deep, satisfied pull of a predator at rest.
Calloway isn’t going anywhere.
Neither are her precious files.
They can wait until morning.
As sleep drags me under, I let myself hope – just a little – that I dream of my psychos.
SERIOUS AS A HEART ATTACK
Suffocate - Nathan Wagner
Bones
The mainland smells wrong.
Too clean. Too quiet. Tooalive.
The helicopter’s heat bleeds into the mist and is gone, the sound thinning into nothing until all that’s left is the echo it leaves in my chest. The dock is private, fenced, lit just brightly enough to discourage curiosity. No crowds. No uniforms. No sirens.
Deliberate.
