I can only manage a gurgle, barely able to turn his words into meaning. Pleasure engulfs my brain in rolling violent waves until I’m a drooling mindless mess. All I know is yes, yes to more, yes to it all, yes to whatever he wants for always.
The tentacle attacking my clit is joined by several more, forcibly pushing my body to release over and over again. My desire drenches his cock, my legs, and the bed below. When I cry out, another tentacle jambs itself down my throat until I'm gagging and crying and coming even harder. I’m breaking, dying, then being reborn in electric juicy jolts.
When Shadow comes, it's with a tremendous roar and the slice of his talons into my hips. I suck in a sharp breath, the fire of the pain completing the moment. It's fucking perfect. All of this is fucking perfect.
I barely manage a hoarse rasp when he leaves my body. So boneless and worn out, I can't even move. A soft kiss lands on my spine before he gets a wet towel and cleans me up. The bed is completely soaked from our sweat and desire, so he moves me to lie on the couch while he changes the sheets.
If I attract all the terrible junk in the world, if I am so powerful I constantly attract hate and harm into my orbit, I don’t care as long as I get to have this.
I can't believe my fortune. As I drift toward the beckoning tendrils of sleep, I wonder which is more luxurious: owning a second pair of sheets or having my monster with me.
The Cuffs Close In
My thumb freezes over the glossy screen of my phone. I finally got myself a smartphone, and after setting up the crisp new device, I’m repaid by a news story popping up. It’s a week old, but delivered as if the wretched electronic knew it was specifically meant for me.
It's a report of the murder of Martin Hurley. My vision swims as audio on the video clip drones in and out like a bomb just went off nearby. I only catch snippets.
"Believed ties to organized crime... "
"Brutally murdered... "
"The last person seen with him... "
A short security cam video of Hurley and me comes up, being led by the small of my back where we disappear into his office. My face is clearly visible.
The phone clatters from my fingers and hits the floor. The screen cracks on impact.
I can’t even bring myself to care because an invisible belt tightens around me. I can’t expand my ribs enough to breathe.
Fuck, fuck,FUCK.
I pace back and forth, my fingers tugging at the roots of my hair. Shadow wipes my DNA off of all the crime scenes andusually, there is no body to be found. But they have the body and the footage of me going into his office with him.
Every second feels like an eternity as I drown in a sea of paranoia and fear. The slow crawl of time only intensifies my jittery nerves, until I feel like I’m on the brink of madness. I jump out of my skin at every small sound, convinced it’s the police at my doorstep. I chain-smoke through the night, unable to sleep or eat after seeing that damning news story. The looming threat of getting caught hangs over me like a heavy axe, ready to drop at any moment.
It’s dawn when someone pounds on my front door. When I see the uniforms, I almost go limp with relief. At least it means an end to this constant state of terror-fueled waiting.
As they read me my rights, I am consumed by pure panic again. My heart hammers against my ribcage as I struggle to catch my breath.
Cold cuffs bite into my wrists as I’m led outside to the police cruiser, where a cold drizzly day receives me. I catch sight of Toothpick Guy. He leans against a black nondescript car, observing me with an unreadable expression. For a moment I’m almost grateful I’m under the thumb of the police instead of him. But organized crime?
If Hurley was connected to the mafia, there is no real place I can hide.
The interrogation room may be a stark, unforgiving place, but it’s become a second home of sorts to me.
They say they have evidence I did it. I can’t let myself believe it. Shadow cleans up after he kills, but I was seen with Hurley, nonetheless. The last person to see him, and then I ran.
I do the only thing I can to protect myself. Say nothing.
They drop a packet on the table with a loud echoing slap, asking if I sent it to them. The evidence I sent in from Hurley’ssafe. I was hoping they’d find that little girl, save her, or save other girls who were under his power.
The backs of my eyes sting with unshed tears. I meant to help, but I may have just dug my own grave.
Detectives loom over me, their questions sharp and relentless. They have evidence, they say. Witnesses placed me at the club that night.
The first flicker of hope comes when my attorney brings news of bail. I'm released, the fresh air hitting me like a slap as I step outside.
Shadow. I need Shadow.
