“That feel good? You like that?” he pants into my ear as he moves his hand up and aggressively kneads the tender flesh of my breasts.
“Brody, please,” I whimper but he isn’t with me, he’s already a million miles away.
His eyes are closed and his mouth hangs open, clearly envisioning something—someone—else as he climbs on top of me. Without warning, he shoves my thighs open and plows into me quickly and efficiently. I cry out as he shoves deeper inside. I’m too dry and the intrusion is painful.
“You need a big old cock, don’t you, you fucking slut?” he growls as he begins to piston his hips.
I close my eyes, also trying to pretend I’m somewhere else. Red glowing eyes flash across my mind and I feel my walls pulse.
“You do like that, huh? You like being my little slut?”
No.
I imagine big tattooed hands caressing me tenderly, reverently. I moan, this time in actual pleasure. Thick arms with veins bursting from the skin cage me in as the bright red eyes burn into me from above as he takes me, worshiping me. I roll my hips as pleasure begins to build.
“Yes,” I moan out loud.
“Fucking desperate whore,” Brody grunts, and for a minute, it pulls me out of my fantasy. Guilt twinges inside of me that I was fantasizing about someone else, but pleasure overrides my sense of marriage morality.
I imagine the masked man between my thighs, lifting the mask ever so slightly to get a taste—licking me, fucking me with his tongue. My pleasure builds again and I can feel my climax within reach. His large hands caress my thighs while he moansat my taste. My walls spasm. I am so close.
“Fuck yes.” Brody comes with a loud grunt. His fleshy hips stutter against me as he comes. He stuffs me full of his sticky release, then swiftly slides out and rolls over, taking my orgasm with him.
I let out a frustrated sigh.
“Don’t forget to take your birth control pill,” he states as he grabs his phone and starts looking at sports highlights.
Sliding from the bed and slipping on my discarded robe, I mumble under my breath, “Yeah, love you too,” before wandering back downstairs to retrieve the small blue package from my purse.
Pulling the pack of pills from the plastic sleeve, I check that I’m on the right day—Friday. Yup. Pushing the small pill through the backing, it makes a popping sound before landing in my awaiting palm. The pack shows two weeks before my period. At least I won’t have to deal with that this weekend.
Spinning around, I go to retrieve a glass for water but freeze in my tracks. Next to the sink on the counter is a single white lily with a note folded around the stem. It’s beautiful. But it hadn’t been there when I was washing the dishes. Crossing the room on silent feet, I scan the dark shadows of the corners of the room. There is no one here.
With shaking hands, I swiftly unfolded the small handwritten note.
You will not let him touch you again, my
love. You belong to me.
A cold chill runs through me as I picture those glowing red eyes. It’s clear that it wasn’t all in my head. I wasn’t imagining things. Someone was in fact watching me. Someone has been in my house. But how long has he been watching me and how much has he seen?
SEVEN
Detective Kaitlin Pierce
Two Days Since Allison Clarke’s Murder
“Detective Pierce!” The rookie’s shrill voice carries across the bullpen.
Since being first on the scene the other night, the uniformed officer has been lurking, a persistent and very unwanted sidekick in this case. His dark hair is always neat, always tidy, never a lock out of place. His uniform is steamed, cleaned, and tucked in each and every day. All signs that he takes this job seriously, perhaps too seriously. I’ve found myself wondering, more than once, if he’s riding the coattails ofthis case, trying to make a name for himself. It wouldn’t be the first time a man used my hard work to get ahead.
“What’s up, Keith?” I ask as I finish off my email and hit send.
“They’ve released an identification, I heard.” His nervous energy buzzes around my desk, forcing the beginning of a headache to push against my temple. I sweep my blonde hair off my neck and roll my shoulders. “Our girl finally has an official ID.”
Our girl.
“Let me look,” I tell him without turning to face him.
