The telltale burn of an impending orgasm winds through me, and my toes curl into the bedding, threatening to charley horse if I'm not careful, and I double down on my efforts. My mouth drops open, and sweat beads on my brow.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I whimper softly, as if I'll scare the climax away if I'm too loud.
I shatter, my entire body burning and spasming as my muscles nearly lock.
I don't know what comes over me. Looking up at the camera, I remove my fingers from my pussy and pop them into my mouth, sucking on them noisily for effect.
"Don't you wish you were here?" I taunt.
I'm playing with fire, and it's a fire I can't put out if it turns out to be, in fact, too hot to handle.
"But Iwashere," a dark, deep voice says to the right of me.
My stalker steps out of the shadows near the dresser, a grin on his face as he steps to the end of the bed and looks down at me.
Running his finger over his lower lip, he looks to be contemplating something.
Possibly how to kill me and fuck me all in the same go.
My sated body shivers as the air conditioning kicks on, the cold breeze running across my sweat-slicked skin.
"What did you hope to accomplish with that little show, poison?" he asks.
I swallow.
Maybe I mis-calculated, and that wasn't something he'd be interested in watching?
"I... Well, nothing, really."
"Nothing, really? You just fucked yourself in the middle of my bed, your pussy aimed right at the cameras you knew I was in front of. Try again. This time, try the truth."
The room with him in it is too hot and too cold at the same time.
He sucks up all the oxygen in the room, and my lungs feel fit to burst before I manage to siphon in a breath.
His shadow looms closer before he crouches.
I’m still nude, legs spread, feeling more exposed than I ever have before. Not only physically, but in every conceivable way.
Answering his question is to face an existential part of me. A part that's innate to everyone that I think each of us at some point will face in our lifetimes: How far would you go to survive?
"Do you think I'm a patient man?" he asks, his fingertip moving over my stomach, causing a shiver to travel in my spine.
"No," I breathe.
"Tell me the truth, poison. Why did you lure me here when I'm in no fit mood for company?"
Oh, shit.
I hadn't even considered the mood of the killer I'm living with, hadn't thought about what he could do if I stirred something darker than I was ready to deal with.
It has me questioning myself.
Why had I spread myself before his camera?
What am I becoming in this cabin deep in the woods?
What more would I do?
