As he releases me from the kiss, he thrusts deeper, his guttural moan affecting me on a visceral level. Every plunge inside me decimates, every coarse pass of his body against mine delivers maddening friction.
“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he says against my ear. He locks his arm under my knee and positions me where he wants, in complete control, as he rails inside me. Relentless.
Alex fucks me until I’m coming undone, fighting against the belt, against the pleasure seizing my body—and the comfort I feel from being bound by him wrecks my sanity. But he keeps me tethered to him, not letting go.
“God-fucking-dammit…” He groans long and hard, his cock growing stiffer and ramming against my inner walls. “I want you to come. Right fucking now. Come on my cock, come with me—”
Back arched, I press against his chest as the orgasm takes hold, pouring through my veins like liquid fire as he rocks into me, thrusting hard once more to hold himself there until I feel the pulsating throb of his shaft as he comes.
He issues a torrent of curses as a hard tremor racks his body. He groans through his orgasm, pinning my body to his as he seals us closer, his mouth falling to my neck.
Feeling the intensity of Alex’s surrender as he releases wrecks me on a primeval level, cathartic and empowering all at once. A thrilling warmth infuses my bloodstream—and I try not to put a name to what I’m feeling…but the damage is already done.
No other emotion can compare.
I close my eyes against the realization, allowing only a few tears to slip down my scarred temples before I’m able to regain control of my senses.
After an intense stretch of silence, where I feel the last delicious shockwaves recede from my body, I bring my bound wrists down along his back. His chest heaves against mine, breaths heavy and spent, as our heartbeats sync to a slower rhythm.
If this is love, it’s the kind of love that makes you mad.
OceanofPDF.com
34
OceanofPDF.com
AFTERSHOCK
OceanofPDF.com
BLAKELY
The beat of the music drifting through the walls has slowed, the volume lower. The club is winding down. Reality is a sharp whip as it lashes at the remaining fragments of euphoria. As the figurative smoke clears, the destruction is evident, and my body acknowledges every bruise and scrape.
Physical aches and pain and, what I assume is the nauseating symptom of regret, urges me to move. I shove Alex aside and roll away from him. He reaches for me, but I push myself up into a sitting position, using my foot to force the leather belt over my hands.
Once free, I stretch for my tank top lying next to his head on the broken bathroom stall. The shirt is tattered and filthy. I ball it up and toss it aside.
“Next time, maybe we can actually do it in a bed,” he remarks.
“That won’t happen.” Resigned on my clothing options, I reach for Alex’s gray shirt and pull it over my head. His scent engulfs me, triggering a fresh ache between my breastbone.
I stand and clear the wreckage debris to locate my jeans, not wasting time to search for my panties. The creeper probably pocketed them, anyway.
He sits forward and grabs his shoulder with a groan. “Where are you going?”
I swipe my bag off the floor. “Somewhere…sane.” The fact my mother’s face springs to mind is alarming and proof I’m losing any rational grasp on reality.
“We still need to talk.”
Aggravation rushes out on a huff of breath. “Everything between us is done.”
As he climbs to his feet, I lower my gaze to the floor, dismissing the uncomfortable surge of heat at seeing Alex’s naked body, the clock on his leg a reminder of the danger we can’t escape with the distraction of sex.
He steps into my path to barricade me from the door. “You can’t deny what just happened between us, what I know you felt—”
“The only thing that happened was the need to get my rocks off.” I glance around the bathroom floor. Finding his pants and white undershirt, I scoop both up and fling them at him.
He catches his clothes, the pant leg smacking his face, which gives me more gratification than it should.
As he slides his leg into the pants, careful of the enflamed skin around the watch, he says, “It’s not safe without me.”
I arch an eyebrow, any argument I could make unnecessary as I stare at his leg to make my point.
He’s the danger.
Everything Alex touches, he destroys.
“You need me,” he says.
“I need you to get out of my way.” I push against his bare chest, frustration thrumming hot and impatient along my nerves.
His hands circle my wrists, his fingers aligning with the bruised imprints he put there. “Blakely, there’s no other choice. An actual deranged, psychotic serial killer is upset with the fact that we connected him to an investigation.”
“Your investigation. Your bodies,” I clarify. But what he’s saying resonates, leaving ice in my veins to replace the lingering heat.
“Our bodies, baby. You’re a killer.”
The realization is quick and smarting, like tape being ripped away from skin. I’m tied to his murders because he made sure to connect me by copying the MO of Ericson’s death. Which makes it look not so much like an unfortunate, random mugging.
“Oh, my god, you sick fuck. I couldn’t figure out why you were targeting my revenge marks. Why you weren’t disposing of the bodies. You did it to link us together. Some twisted union your demented brain thinks will…what? Unite us?”
He doesn’t deny my allegation. “Your targets were meticulously vetted,” he says in defense. “I could’ve wasted days or even weeks searching for new subjects.”
“So it was a matter of convenience,” I say, sarcasm layered thick in my tone.
A flash of annoyance passes over his features, and I twist my forearms free of his grip. He knows something more—he’s keeping some vital piece from me.
“I have a plan,” Alex says, but my thoughts are too far away to really hear him.
I’m searching the memory of my conversation with London for anything that was said, anything that was hinted to or—
I yank my tote around and open it. I plunder through the bag until I unearth my billfold and unzip the side compartment where I placed London’s business card.
A confused expression crosses his face as I flip the card over and hold it up to the florescent light. “That fucking bitch,” I say.
The card stock is too thick to see through, but I note the weight, then I tear it in half.
A small computer chip, like the tracker we used on the call girl to mic her, is hidden between the thick card stock.
London bugged me.
I’m not sure if she can hear what we’re saying, or if it’s simply a GPS device, but I’m certain she’s been spying on me. I told her about Alex killing his subjects with the experiment. Then Grayson shows up to torture Alex.
Wordlessly, I stalk to the broken stall and grab a wad of tissue, then proceed to wrap the chip. “Until I can learn more.” I crumple the paper to muffle any potential feed and bury it in my bag.
“I’ll analyze it properly later,” Alex says, arrogantly making the assumption we’ll be together.
I hold his gaze for a long beat. The weight of the shifting tide crashes down on me, and I’m trapped in his undertow.
Who is my enemy?
Should I run? Escape Alex? Escape the murders, the killers, and all the dangers suddenly hunting me?
Before Alex entered my world, I never ran from anyone or anything. But I already tried to run once, and I couldn’t escape him. This time, I have to face my fears.
