Page 78 of White Noise

I stay silent.

Saga leans back in the chair, folding her arms in a pathetic attempt at defiance. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

I wait.

I let the silence stretch, thick and suffocating, just long enough to watch the irritation bubble under her skin until she’s practically vibrating.

Only then do I let my reflection bleed into the dark monitor where hers should be. She freezes, staring at me for a long, heavy second.

“You’re experimenting.”

I smile at her through the screen, a slow, predatory curve of the lips. “Took you long enough to figure it out, you slow little thing.”

Her eyes narrow, a flicker of genuine hate crossing her face. “You’re a real asshole, you know that.”

“You keep saying that like I’m supposed to give a fuck what you think,” I drawl, my voice echoing through the speakers with a distorted, metallic edge. “Your insults are as flimsy as your resolve, Saga.”

“Maybe you should fucking care. Maybe one day something human will accidentally develop in there,” she spits.

“It won’t.” I lean closer to the glass of the screen, my gaze stripping her bare. “And why would I want it to? Why would I want to be human when I can just own everything a human is?”

That earns me a look that would probably bother a man.

I’m not a man.

I watch the tension in her posture, the way she shifts in the chair, the desperate, shallow rhythm of her breathing that she thinks she’s hiding.

She’s trying to look bored, playing the part of the unimpressed victim, but the performance is cracking.

I can smell the fear and the arousal mixing in the air, and it tastes like copper.

“What exactly are you trying to figure out?” she asks, her voice trembling just a fraction.

I don’t answer with words. I answer by slamming a jagged pulse of current through the monitor, a direct strike to her nervous system.

Her grip tightens around the armrests, knuckles turning white, and a sharp, broken gasp catches in her throat.

A second later, her thighs snap shut, pressing together in a reflexive, desperate clench before she even realizes why her body is reacting.

That is the only part worth studying.

I don’t care if she enjoys it. I don’t care if she understands it. I only care that her body betrays her before her mind can even process the intrusion. I want her instincts to belong to me.

Saga glances down at her own shaking legs, then looks back at the screen, catching the smug, dark hunger in my eyes.

“Oh, fuck you,” she hisses.

“Exactly,” I purr. “That’s the only response I’m interested in.”

Her jaw sets, her chest heaving. “You’re fucking with my nervous system.”

“I’m mapping it,” I correct her, my voice dropping to a low, dominating growl. “I’m seeing exactly how easily you break. How quickly you fold when I touch you from the inside out.”

“That is somehow even creepier.”

“I told you, Saga—I’m not trying to make you comfortable.” I let a flicker of static dance across the screen, mimicking the spark of a nerve. “I’m trying to make you mine. Every twitch, every sob, every pathetic little orgasm I can squeeze out of you without even touching your skin.”

She gives me a flat, haunted stare. “Clearly.”