by A. R. Torre
My life as a recluse had been set up and coordinated very carefully over the last four years. Dr. Pat was a piece to that puzzle. He provided me the drugs I use to pay Simon. He also, in rare moments of ailments, stood in as my doctor. Dr. Derek wanted me to see a doctor, so Dr. Pat is whom I texted.
I need your services.
It took almost an hour to get a response, a record in the four years of our working relationship.
When?
Whenever you’re free.
Will I need visual?
No. I don’t think so.
He called me ten minutes later, his voice muffled, with a bit of an echo. Most likely in the bathroom, leaning against the wall as he took care of his dirty little secret’s medical needs. Our conversation was quick and efficient. I described my injury, he asked a series of educated questions, I answered truthfully. We determined, in the course of four minutes and twenty-two seconds, that I was fine, but needed to watch out for a handful of symptoms, the appearance of which should prompt a visit to the ER. Then I thanked him, we set up a time for payment, and the call ended. An eavesdropper would never have known the truth. That the happily married father of three liked to ride dildos while I watched.
CHAPTER 17
Past
“HEY, BEAUTIFUL.”
I relaxed against the pillows and pushed aside the keyboard. “Hey, Mike.”
“Long time, babe.”
“I know.” I didn’t say more, even though there were a hundred things I could have said.
My boyfriend doesn’t like you.
We’ve fought over these chats.
He resents you for his house.
He thinks I enjoy our cybersex.
I do enjoy our cybersex and maybe that’s a problem.
Tonight though, I needed Mike. I needed Mike in a way that none of my other clients would do. I needed the comfortable grip of a man who knew my buttons. I needed to hear someone breathe my name and to know that they found me attractive. The real me, not Jessica Reilly. The me that did evil and lied and lived a life of solitude. Mike knew me, and when he moaned my name, it was real and pure and fulfilling.
What will you do if Jeremy breaks up with you?
Damn Dr. Derek. His words haunted me, they stalked the empty corners of my day, and I wanted nothing but an escape.
“What do you want, baby?”
I grinned into the camera and curved into my pillow. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one asking you that? You are paying me for a reason.”
“Fine.” His voice deepened, a trace of masculine authority entering it. “Take off that shirt. I need to see your perfect body.”
I dragged the shirt up and over my breasts.
“Further. All the way off.” He growled into the mic. I arched my back off the mattress and worked my shoulders out of the material. “Perfect. Lie back down, baby. Lie back down and close your eyes.” I did as I was told, my eyes closing as I sank into the pillows. “Tell me, Deanna.”
I wet my lips. “I want you.”
“Keep those eyes closed. Keep them closed and picture me right now. I have my cock in my hand and it is so fucking hard for you. It aches it’s so hard. What do you want to do with it?”
I kept my eyes closed and pictured him, sitting back in his chair. Saw his pants unbuttoned and his legs spread slightly. Pictured his cock standing straight up, his hand tightly wrapped around it, the head swollen and ready. I ran my hand down my stomach and slid it under my thong.
“No.” His voice was gruff. “Over your panties. I want you to tease yourself and imagine it’s my tongue.”
“What would you do?” I asked, my fingers quick to obey, quick to slide over the satin and tease at the outside of my clit.
“Good, Deanna. I can’t even watch you without needing you.” He groaned the words and I imagined the pump of his cock, the squeeze of his hand, the jerk of his touch as his hips bucked underneath the action. “I want to worship you with my mouth. Go over your panties and suck you into my mouth. Tease your clit with my tongue before I pull aside your thong and bury my face in you. Taste your cum on my mouth. Feel you tremble under my hands. I—” His voice breaks and my eyes open, wanting to see, wanting more. God, if he was before me…
“Touch yourself,” he demanded hoarsely. “I want to see it.”
… I’d come apart if he touched me. If he leaned in and whispered these words. If he groaned against my pussy and jacked off his cock. I’d grip his hair in my fingers and ride his face shamelessly. I’d cry his name and buck my hips and wrap my legs around his head and come on his mouth, my body shaking, my legs squeezing, my voice cracking. I—
When I came, he growled my name over and over, his voice breaking, his harsh moan at the end telling me the moment he followed suit, the soft whisper of his hands, cool breath blown against my hot skin, his mouth kissing beads of sweat off my chest.
And, in the moment before he signed off, I felt the remorseful pull of guilt.
“Thank you, baby.” He whispered the words, his voice slack and sleepy.
“Anytime, Mike.” I dropped my head back and closed my eyes. Stretched out my limbs and wondered how long it’d be before I could move.
“I missed you.” His voice was quiet and lazy, but the emotion was there, pushing, reminding. Reminding me that, like it had been for a long time, there was something there. Something between us.
“I missed you too.” I said the words softly and wished, for the hundredth time, that he’d show me his cam. Let me see his eyes and know what lay there. If it was just lust, or if… Maybe it was better he didn’t. Maybe it was better for us if there was this layer of disconnect. Maybe he was about to turn off his computer and walk into MysteryBarbie’s room. Curl into bed with her and forget his online slut. I reached out a hand and clicked the mouse. Ended the session.
Twenty-six minutes. $181.74 earned. Because it was, despite the I miss yous and joint orgasms, a business transaction. Just like I keep reminding Jeremy. That’s all.
CHAPTER 18
Present
“MRS. MCCLINTOCK, WHY were you behind the Quik Mart at that time of night?”
“The Dumpsters are emptied on Monday mornings. I like to glance through them, see if anyone’s thrown out anything good. You wouldn’t believe the perfectly good stuff that people throw out, even in this neighborhood.”
“Ever found anything like this before? In or near the Dumpster?”
“A body? No. I’ve never found a body before.”
“Anything else? That stands out as odd?”
“Could I have a glass of water? I’m feeling a little light-headed.”
CHAPTER 19
Past
JEREMY KNOCKED AND waited. Pressed a hand to the wall and leaned forward slightly, stretching out his back. He should wear the brace. Too many heavy boxes lifted improperly. One day he’d be hunched over like the oldies on the loading dock. He rolled his neck and glanced at his watch. Tilted a head toward the door and tried to hear something. Considered just opening it. He knocked again.
Deanna’s voice came through, sweet and quiet. Such a contrast to reality. “Just leave it.”
His hand stopped an inch from the handle and he looked up, into the dead peephole. “What?”
“I’m in a session. Just leave the box like we used to do.”
Used to do. Right. In the first three years, back when he had never seen her. Knew only her voice and her cryptic insistence that he leave all packages and walk away. They’d left that stage a year ago. “What are you talking about? Open the door.” He wanted to reach out. Turn the knob and push it in. It’d be unlocked. He was a hundred times stronger than she was. But he resisted. Tried to respect the request, even if he didn’t understand it. “Are you okay?” Maybe someone was there. Maybe she was being held captive, against her will. Someone, right now, might be holding a knife to her throat. He should try the door. He stretched his shoulders back and clenched his fists, every muscle prepping for a possibl
e confrontation.
“I’m fine. Just leave the fucking box.” She didn’t sound scared. She sounded irritated. Then again, the woman didn’t have the sense to be scared, her inner compass too fucked up for her own good.
He looked down at the box, a small one from a beauty store. “I’m not leaving until I see you.”
An irritated huff that somehow passed through the steel door. A string of curses that tumbled louder when the door snatched open, the girl who owned his heart, standing before him in a T-shirt and hot-orange boyshorts. “Happy?” she demanded.
His eyes danced over her, then shot left, to her pink bed, brilliantly lit by ten thousand watts of professional lighting, a pile of sex toys front and center on its bedspread. To the kitchen, the table empty, counters clean. The door to the bathroom open, shower curtain pulled, green tile showing. The right side of the room, where stacks of novels framed a box spring and mattress, a messy pile of sheets and pillows. Further right, the sea of cardboard boxes encroaching, almost pushing to the door frame. No one else. Just her, the loft apartment empty. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
Her eyes rolled upward and she leaned forward, yanking the package out of his hands and tossing it in the general direction of her bed. “Nothing. I’m working. I’ll call you later.”
She pushed the door closed and his hand shot out, stopping it. “Kiss me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “No.”
“Tell me what the fuck is wrong,” he growled. “Is this about dinner with my family?”
“Move your hand before I chop it off.” Her upper lip curled into a snarl.
He lifted it and stared her down, her eyes darting away from his in the moment before she slammed it. Then, to his absolute shock, there was the click of a lock.
A lock. He wasn’t even aware she had a lock on that side of the door. She prided herself on keeping it open during the day, had some fanatical obsession with it. Yet here, now… she didn’t let him in and locked the door. Locked him out. Wouldn’t kiss him. He stared at the peephole and wondered if she was looking through it. Wondered, with a pain in his heart, if this was the beginning of the end. Was it his invitation to dinner? He knew he shouldn’t have asked. Damn Lily for pressing it. Damn him for bending under the pressure. Damn—
“She’s a fucking peach.”
He kept his eyes on the peephole, fought an inner war with himself before turning to the voice. Of course. The blonde. What was her name? He searched his mind and came up blank.
“I gotta say, I think you can do better.” She sauntered forward, her hands pushing into the front pockets of her jeans, the motion pushing them farther down on her hips, the edge of yellow lace giving a hint at her panties.
He said nothing, just pulled his eyes from her impressively tight abs.
“The strong silent type?” she asked, stopping before him, a hand leaving her pocket to brush through her hair, her back arching from the motion. He noticed her breasts. She grinned and he wanted to leave. Didn’t want another moment of this. Wanted to be inside Deanna’s fucking apartment and sliding his palms over her ass. Taking her mouth as he pushed her against the wall and pulled her against his body. Wanted to beg against her ear for five fucking minutes inside her, his cock pushing against his brown pants, her hand freeing him, gripping him, guiding him inside her. The catch of her gasp when he pushed inside, the hot grip of her body when she took him in, the widening of her eyes, dig of her nails, moan of her voice when she came.
Instead he was stuck with this woman, who was stepping closer, her hand reaching out to trace over the badge of his sleeve. “UPS, huh? So… if I order something, you’ll handle the package?” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.
He said nothing and glanced toward Deanna’s door. Wondered if his girlfriend was catching this. If she cared. If she was about to open up the door and yank him inside. His cock awoke at that thought, at the reminder of what the last interaction with this woman had led Deanna to do. Wondered what it would take to push her buttons back to that point. He let his eyes return to the blonde, whose hand slid lower and wrapped around his bicep. “Wow,” she gushed. “You’re so strong.” He reached across and gently wrapped his hand around her small wrist, pulling gently, her grip releasing at the contact. He glanced at the door and willed it to open. Welcomed whatever punishment his beautiful brunette wanted to dish out.
“Don’t worry about her,” she whispered. “Simon says the freak never comes out.”
“She’s not a freak.” He dropped his hand from hers and met her eyes, which widened slightly at his tone.
“I’m sorry. It’s just… he said she—”
“Simon should mind his own business,” he said darkly.
Her eyes fell downward, as did her hand, the returning push to her pockets drawing her pants a little farther down. Her panties were sheer lace. High on the sides. She didn’t, from this angle, appear to have tan lines. His cock refused to soften from his earlier fantasy; it pushed stubbornly. He needed to turn around and leave. Fuck provoking Deanna. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, softer this time, a whisper of submission.
I’m sorry. Had Deanna ever apologized to him? Ever? Maybe at the hospital. Maybe. She wasn’t the apologizing sort, not like this woman, who was now meekly glancing up, through thick lashes. Meekly. It activated a sudden, unnecessary, caveman urge to protect her. “It’s okay,” he said quickly, stepping back before he reached out. “I’ve got to run. Other deliveries.”
“Sure.” She stepped back, mirroring his move, the space between them stretching farther. “I’ll see you around.”
“Chelsea, right?” Her name came to him like manna, and her mouth curved at the name, a smile spreading over her face.
“Yeah.”
“See you later.”
When she waved good-bye, her breasts shook a little from the motion. He turned quickly and walked toward the elevator. Fought the urge not to run.
He’d turned into a pussy.
CHAPTER 20
Past
I SAW IT all. That slut with her paws all over Jeremy. When I shut the door in his face, I put my hands on the door, twin cracks of phalanges on either side of the peephole, my forehead resting above it. I breathed hard when she came in stage left. Stepped away and shook my hands to relax my arms. Yanked open the safe, pulled out the closest switchblade and flipped it in my hands just to refamiliarize myself with its weight. Snapped the blade out and then in as I leaned against the door and gritted my teeth. Watched him reach out his hand and touch her. Turned his head and looked at me. I stepped back, spun around. Dropped the knife before I used it. Raised hands to my head and gripped my hair. Backed up until my heel hit the door and I sank against it. Turned my good ear to the steel.
“Chelsea, right?”
“Yeah.”
“See you later.”
Chelsea, right? See you later. He had reached out and touched her. Smiled at her. Had glanced toward the peephole like he was motherfucking goading me.
I will kill him.
Slowly. Seductively. Painfully.
I will kill him.
CHAPTER 21
Past
JEREMY CALLED DEANNA from the truck, the cold metal of his cell against his ear, the shake of the truck roaring to life. His GPS chirped at the same time that her voice mail came on, the cheery tone absolutely false to the girl six stories above him. He pulled out abruptly, the squeal of tires promptly accompanied by a horn, his side mirror giving him a clear view of the Ford Focus that he’d almost hit. He let out an aggravated sigh and spoke tersely into the phone.
“Deanna. What the fuck was that? Call me. I don’t know if this is about dinner at my sister’s or what but… just call me.” He hung up the phone and swore, tossing it into the open glove box, the cell hitting just short and bouncing down into the floorboard. He ground his teeth and took a right, accelerating onto the freeway. He didn’t need this. She was always a loose cannon, but one that had come with clear rules. Habits. Habits t
hat involved him having, as one of the few strengths in their relationship, free access to her apartment. Never, not since they officially dove into this whirlwind of a relationship, had she done that. Shut him out. Locked the door. Well… once she had.
“If you love me, you need to let me go right now. Trust in me, in us, and go home.”
And he’d trusted her that day. Had been the good submissive boyfriend that he was and had gone home. A colossal mistake, one that had almost killed him. But their relationship had changed since then. Strengthened. They’d grown closer. Shared more. Their lives had intertwined tighter, the strands of their connection thicker. Unbreakable. A week ago he’d have said they were unbreakable. Now, they felt like china. Delicate, breakable china.
It had been the invite to dinner. Had to have been. He’d pushed her. He didn’t ever push her. Didn’t like to rock the boat. Enjoyed her smile too much. So why had he pushed? Part of it had been his sister. Her questions. Her points. Her pushing to light all of the things that he liked to bury and ignore. She’d been right, his sister. She always was. And it had been her silent questions, her silent pokes, that he had heard the loudest.
He’d been out of the apartment with Deanna. They’d gone on dates, and it was fine. So why was she still locked up? Why still live the life of a recluse? Why could she go to Outback with him but not to his sister’s house?
And then there was the other issue, the nagging thought he’d been pushing around for the last few months. The thought that had been growing roots every time he broke her rules and logged onto the camsite. Eavesdropped on her in free chat and watched her work. When she was on camera, she was someone else. She smiled differently. Laughed more. Cracked jokes. Danced. On camera she played the role so well that he forgot the truth. Believed that she was a nineteen-year-old college student who went to keg parties on the weekends. And every time he watched her work, his hypothesis grew.
