I stop behind Cynthia, staying close to her chair, so close she feels my breath and shudders. Death calls in shadowy corners, lurking beneath tables, whispering on the draft from the empty hearth. Hatchet, it says.

I glance at the ax lying on the rumpled plastic, but I don’t pick it up.

“This is kinder, Cynthia,” I say as I brace my arm across her forehead to keep her head in place. My free hand slides across her face, following the slick surface of the tear-streaked tape. She whimpers in wordless pleas as I pinch her delicate nose shut. “And you’re not worth the effort. You’re just a speed bump on my way to Caron. Nothing more than a little rise on the road to my grand destination.”

Cynthia’s throat strains. She begs with her last breath. Her lungs spasm in metronomic desperation. I reach over with my free hand and loosen the belt around her injured arm, letting the blood tumble to the floor.

“When you get to hell, tell Donald Soversky Jr. that Bria sent you,” I whisper with the last beats of her heart.

When it’s all over, when Cynthia’s life has ebbed away, I start the process of cleaning up the mess. It takes a few hours to ensure every step in my process is complete, from rifling through Cynthia’s belongings to setting the pit to start the decomposition of her body. It’s getting dark when I pull away from the cabin in the Audi A3, leaving the A6 I brought Cynthia here with in the garage, just in case. Eli calls while I’m on the way home and I tell him I finished everything early, and he sounds so hopeful when he asks if I can come over that there’s no way I’d say no.

I’m so tired by the time I arrive at Eli’s, so relieved and satisfied, that I fall asleep on his couch as we watch Four Weddings and a Funeral. I wake for only a few moments as he carries me to the bed and we undress, sliding under the covers to fall asleep in each other’s arms.

I can be someone else, I think as I nestle into his warmth and close my eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

Just not today.

OceanofPDF.com

27

OceanofPDF.com

ELI

“I meant what I said,” I growl as Bria writhes against the seatbelt. Her chest heaves with unsteady breaths as I thumb her clit and pump two fingers into her hot, slick pussy. “I promised I would fuck you every chance I got on this trip.”

Bria moans, straining against the restriction of the seatbelt, her short skirt bunched up around her hips. “I meant what I said too, that I’m counting on it.”

The GPS chimes the upcoming turn and I increase the pressure of my thumb and the speed of my thrusts, trying to keep at least some of my attention on the road. My dick is painfully hard against my jeans and I’m desperate to get to our lodgings. “Come for me, sweetheart. We’re nearly there.”

“Where’s there?” she asks in a breathless, strained whisper.

“You’ll see. It’s a surprise.” Bria whimpers and opens her mouth to protest but I pinch her clit in warning and she gasps with pleasure. “I said, it’s a surprise.”

Her dark laugh is swallowed by a moan as Bria squirms to increase the friction against my hand. “What if I don’t like surprises?”

“That’s exactly what I’m counting on, sweetheart. I think you’ll loathe it.”

Bria’s pussy constricts around my fingers and her muscles tense, her hand clutching my thigh across the center console. Her head tilts back and her eyes close and her breath catches in her lungs. Her other hand grips my wrist as I slow the motion of my fingers, letting her down from the orgasm just as we make it to the turn. When I withdraw my fingers from her panties, I hold them up to her lips, her slick arousal glistening in the sun.

“Have a taste,” I say as my dick strains with my words. Bria’s flushed face beams with a wicked smile as she grasps my wrist with both her hands and turns toward me. She folds my index finger down so just my middle finger remains.

“That’s what I think of surprises.”

“Perfect.”

Bria grins and keeps hold of my eyes as the car slows to a crawl on the dirt road, and then envelops my finger with her mouth, sucking hard on my flesh. She lets it go with a pop and runs her tongue across her lips.

“I am going to destroy you,” I say as a growl climbs my throat.

Bria’s mischievous giggle is as dark and daring as it is sweet and innocent. “I’d like to see you try.”

I must give her some kind of wild, ravenous look because that always seems to thrill her the most, and she’s radiant with excitement when I lurch to a stop at the caretaker’s house. “I’ll be right back,” I say.

Bria waits in the vehicle as I check in with the elderly couple who runs Rock Creek Chalets, retrieving the keys before following the winding gravel driveway to a clearing where five well-spaced log cabins rest on a hill with a view of the hills and forests. The vehicle rolls to a stop but I don’t kill the engine.

“Pick one,” I say. Bria’s eyes narrow as a slow smile stalks across her face.

“Pick one?”

“You heard me, Pancake.”

“You rented all five?”

I open my hand to display the five keys that had been warming within my fist. “I don’t want people to think I’m committing murder when I keep my promise to destroy you.”

Bria laughs, her eyes dancing in the afternoon light. “These are hardly university-approved lodgings, Professor,” she says as she takes in the rustic logs and private hot tubs. “Who signs off on your grants, exactly?”

“You’re right, it’s not really university protocol. But neither is me being arrested for making you scream in some cookie-cutter hotel room. Hence, I’m paying separately from the grant. Pick one.”

Bria points to the chalet furthest up the hill and her devious grin has my dick begging for relief.

“Good choice,” I say, and we park in front of the log home.

We get out of the car and head to the trunk to retrieve our bags. Bria’s packed light with just a backpack in addition to her equipment, but she grabs the shopping bags of food and lunges for the smaller of two duffels before I catch her wrist and push it away. She gives me a knowing giggle that ricochets through my heart.

“What do you have in there, Dr. Kaplan?” she teases as she lunges for it again.

“Hands off, Pancake.”

“Maybe I should stay in the first cabin and you take this one,” she says, her fingers now darting for the keys shoved into my back pocket. I manage to swerve before she can snag one, but she sets down the shopping bags and launches an attack of grabby fingers. “Wouldn’t want to appear improper, Professor. Section seven of the Berkshire University Travel and Expenses Policy states that faculty shall not—”

“Pancake,” I say, sweeping Bria over my shoulder and trapping her bare legs against my chest. “I don’t give a fuck what the policy says. Now give me the key for number five while you’re down there.”

Bria’s rare, musical laugh follows me as I grab a few of the bags with my free hand and head toward the cabin. She pulls the handful of keys from my back pocket and when we get to the door, I set her down so she can unlock it, unveiling a rustic, welcoming interior of handmade rugs and antique decorations. An old pair of vintage rawhide snowshoes hang above the mantle of a stone fireplace in the living room to the left, a small kitchen and breakfast nook spread to the right, with a set of stairs to the bedroom and bathroom straight ahead.

“I hate it even more than the cherry tree. Show me the upstairs so I can determine the full depths of my disdain,” Bria says.

I set down all the bags aside from the small black duffel and turn to her slowly. Her grin is so full of cocky mischief that my bones turn as hot as molten steel with just a glance of her smile.