“He scares me a little,” she adds. “But he also wants to worship me. It’s not normal... but I don’t want normal.”
Her words wrap around me.
“You’re not crazy for wanting this, Laurette. You’re wired for something more. Something raw. And this guy—B? Maybe he’s your…more.”
I swallow hard. “Wanting it doesn’t mean I’m not scared. What if I can’t handle it?”
She grins. “Try it. Let him take you somewhere you’ve never gone before. If you don’t like where it goes, end it.”
The thought of ending it twists low in my chest.
Brielle reaches for the wine bottle and tops off both our glasses. She lifts hers and raises it toward me. “To unhinged women and the men who ruin us in the most beautiful way.”
I clink my glass against hers.
“To more,” I whisper.
We finish the bottle. Laughter tangles with quiet confessions and a comfort that comes from being seen without judgment. The more I give it voice, the less it seems like madness. The fear doesn’t vanish, but it loosens its grip and stretches into something I can carry.
By the time Brielle leaves—cheeks flushed and eyes bright—I feel lighter.
The house is quiet after she’s gone. I lock the door behind her and pause, hands on the frame, breathing in the silence.
Things are different now.
I’m not broken. Just wired for something more.
I move through the house, turning off lights. My head buzzes from the wine, from the adrenaline, from her words.
I peel off my clothes and slide into bed. The sheets are cool, but my body isn’t.
The burner phone lies on the pillow beside me. Black screen. No new messages, but it hums with presence.Hispresence.
My fingers brush the edge, then curl around it tightly.
He said he’ll be watching, and he’ll make his move when I least expect it. When the game begins in earnest.
My heart beats loudly in the quiet. I should be terrified. I should call the police and hand this phone over as evidence.
But instead—I smile.
The dark doesn’t scare me. It’s exciting. Because somewhere out there, he’s awake. Planning.
And I want to be hunted.
The thought of him lurking in shadows and tracking every breath snakes through me, tense and impossible to ignore.
I slide a hand between my thighs, already slick. Myfingers find the heat without hesitation, as if my body has been aching for this moment.
I close my eyes and picture him here, watching me. Every stroke drags me closer. Not soft. Not sweet. I fuck myself the way I think he would—rough, slow, relentless. I imagine his hand at my throat, his mouth at my ear, his voice low and cruel.
You wanted this.
You begged for it.
Now take it.
Pleasure builds sharp and wicked, curling tight in my core. I bite back a moan, but it doesn’t take long. My body clenches, back arching, hips grinding into my palm as I come with a gasp.
