“Get the f**k off of me.” The voice was so familiar; he had cherished it for so long—soft and sweet—even when saying those words.
“Not gonna happen.”
“I will scream bloody f**king murder if you don’t get up, and someone will come. You left the damn door wide open.”
He looked at the door, standing calmly open, the dim hall exposed, the damn box from BathJoyX still sitting innocently outside the transom. He wondered how much time had passed since he had tried the knob. One minute? Two? Five? It felt like a lifetime had passed. He reached forward, pressing harder down on her body, and she squirmed beneath him, glaring at him with eyes of death. His fingers touched the door and he heaved, the door moving from the pressure, swinging softly and then clicking into place.
He grinned down at her, pleased. “What exactly was your plan? To kill me?”
“You entered my home. I have the right to defend myself.”
“That wasn’t defense. That was f**king psychopath behavior. You were one step behind Hannibal Lector with that shit.” He laughed nervously, and fought a battle with his cock, willing it to soften. It ignored him, defiantly taking the other route. Her eyes flickered downward, and a slow smile crossed her face. Shit.
The son-of-a-bitch was hard. If I ever needed official proof that I sucked at killing, this would be it. But maybe this was my ace in the hole. This was my second chance. I moved slightly underneath him, testing my hypothesis. I had had so little experience with live, breathing men. But yes, it twitched, and the skin beneath his c**k turned sensitive on me, my body betraying me. I used the rest of myself, those parts still loyal, and lifted slightly, pressing my bare pelvis up against his stiffness, my thighs shaking slightly. I bit my bottom lip, stared into his eyes, and lifted again, closing my eyes in false reverence when my skin rubbed with his. It was almost laughably unfair.
She had transformed before his eyes. The wild, crazed look was gone, replaced with a sexual potency of the Jenna Jameson variety. She was thrusting beneath him, grinding her bare sex into him, driving his c**k wild with need. Her eyes closed, head thrown back, small moans escaped from her—blissful, sweet sounds that pulled him deeper into this insane rabbit hole. She reached out her hands, grabbed his shirt and tugged—softly, then harder when he did not respond. His pants were stretched almost to the point of ripping, and he struggled to breathe normally, to act rationally. She opened her eyes, slowly, lazily, and licked those perfect, pink lips. “I need you so badly,” she whispered.
He almost did it. Almost hopped off her perfect body, ripped open the fly of his brown uniform, and dropped back down on top of her, his c**k posed at her wet opening, his hands ready to take her as his. But he waited. He watched her and tried to make sense of it all.
I was getting irritated. He wasn’t responding like he should. His eyes should be more glazed, mouth farther open. He should not be watching so intently, so suspiciously. He moved, finally reaching down, but didn’t go for his zipper as I expected. Instead, he traced a gentle hand with hesitant fingers, down my stomach, over the swell of my br**sts, the buds of my ni**les, and came to rest at the small of my throat. I stiffened, opening my eyes fully, and turned to him. Watching.
It was a trick. Jeremy realized it as he watched her moan and convulse beneath him. It was a performance that was certainly tempting, mind-blowing, three staggering times hotter than any fantasy he had ever had. But it was staged, her madness held in check behind one false layer of sensuality. He ran his hand lightly over the thin skin of her throat, at the sensitive place where her tendons intertwined in life-giving support. As much as he loved her flushed skin, her beautiful br**sts, her moans of arousal, he wanted to see behind the curtain of her performance even more. He wanted to know what he was dealing with. He moved his hands closer and clenched them, squeezing tightly around her neck.
CHAPTER 25: Annie
They sat on the back step, Annie plopping down on the dirty concrete, unmindful of the layer of red dust that covered the step. She grabbed at the brightly wrapped yellow gift with greedy hands, and Uncle Frank laughed—holding it out of reach. She climbed over him, standing on his leg until her small hands reached his outstretched ones, and she pulled the gift to her chest. Crawling back down, she pushed her hair back and admired the plain wrapping, tied with a single pink ribbon.
“Well, go ahead,” her uncle prodded, bumping her small body gently with his elbow. She looked over at him, her mouth spread wide in an expectant grin. Her small fingers gripped and ripped the paper, revealing a pink princess costume set, complete with a feather boa, plastic crown, and silk gloves. The sun glinted off the crown’s large pink jewels, and she threw the wrapping off, and waved the set excitedly, the wind blowing the boa wildly. He stood, chasing the yellow paper, which jumped and skipped across the grass yard, finally snagging it and crumpling it into a tight ball. He gripped the ball tightly and walked back to her. Annie tugged on the cheap crown, trying to free it from the cardboard display board. The plastic curved, close to breaking with every tug of her fingers. He reached out a hand, sitting back down beside her, taking the item gently from her hands. He turned it over, untwisting the plastic ties, and she leaned closer, her breath blowing warm on his neck. Finally, the crown was free, and he held it up, setting it gently on her head and pushing the plastic teeth into her blond hair.
“How do I look Uncle Frank?” she asked, grabbing the boa and wrapping it around her slim neck.
“Perfect, honey. You look absolutely beautiful.” His gruff voice spoke quietly, but she heard the words, and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him gently on the cheek.
“Thanks, Uncle Frank,” she whispered.
“Annie!” Annie looked up, into the strained eyes of her mother. “Annie, come inside. Uncle Michael and Aunt Becky are here.”
She stood, brushing off the fabric of her dress, and grabbed her uncle’s hand, tugging it as she climbed a concrete step. “Come on! Come inside!”
“I’m gonna stay right here for a bit, Annie,” her uncle said, a flicker of darkness in his eyes. Then he smiled at her, and everything was right again. “I just need a minute, sweetie. Go inside, like your momma says.” She beamed at him and reached up, checking her crown. Then she spun, and in a blur of pink and blond, was gone. The screen door snapped shut behind her.
CHAPTER 26: April 12th
Jeremy’s hands tightened around my throat, cutting off oxygen, causing panic to fill me. I stopped grinding against him and snapped my eyes to his, searching the depths of his green eyes for understanding. I saw none there—only steady, indescribable strength. My instincts took over and I screamed, a long, silent, angry movement in which my vocal cords deserted me. He loosened his grip slightly, and I gasped for air in a desperate, shuddering inhalation. I bared my teeth, hissing at him, hatred for him burning through every pore of my being. I turned on him, using my legs, arms, and latent strength to try and knock him off balance, to push his maddening weight off of me. It was a useless exercise, my struggles only draining my energy as I resisted iron muscle and dead weight. The man was surprisingly fit, and I finally gave up, exhausted. I laid limp, staring stubbornly up at the ceiling, tears of frustration leaking out of the corners of my eyes. I had met opportunity and lost. It was an outcome I had never contemplated.