My heels dig into the mattress, my back bowing away from the bed as that blissful heat jolts through me. I fight the moan, tossing my head to the side and biting my lip as I give in to that feeling. And then, as soon as that heat dissipates, with my fingers still buried deep inside me, guilt slams over me.
I stare at the ceiling, my heart still slamming against my rib cage from the sudden release of endorphins as I pull up my jeans and fasten them. When I sit up, I sigh. This is what they mean by idle hands are the Devil's workshop, and I'm terrified the next time I see Jax, all I'm going to be able to think about is this—me playing with myself while thinking about him. It will be all over my face. I'll turn beet red the second I lay eyes on him.
My thoughts are cut off by the sound of the back door slamming. My pulse speeds up.
Footsteps come down the hall. There's a cough then a soft knock on the door. "Miranda?"
I swallow then unlock the door, praying my cheeks aren't still flushed when I pull it open. Clearing my throat, I force a smile. "Yep?"
"I know I'm a day early and that I promised not to bother you, but I was just struck with some incredible inspiration and was hoping you might be up for a little writing session." Edwin smiles, his dark eyes never leaving my own.
"Oh, um, yeah." I nod. I can feel sweat beading on my brow. "Sure."
"Well, I'm already in the office, and I've got a fresh pot of coffee going if you'd like to join me." He turns without waiting for a response and makes his way down the hall, humming "Singin’ in the Rain."
Something about him is way off, almost like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Maybe that "incredible inspiration" came in the form of drugs.
He stops behind the desk and pulls my chair out for me. I eye him cautiously as I take a seat and turn on the desktop computer. And he's still humming. He takes his own seat, looks over at me, and smiles.
"I hope your spa day was as beneficial as my writing retreat was for me," he says, cracking his knuckles before powering up his computer.
"It was relaxing. Thank you, by the way. That was very nice of you."
"Please, don't even mention it. I'm glad you enjoyed it." He turns, an eyebrow arched. "I noticed you all got back later in the afternoon. Enjoy the city a bit?"
Inhaling, I nod. "Yep. Janine took me to some diner. So… what are we writing?"
He looks at me as if he's trying to read me, studying me. He smiles once more, a slanted, unnatural smile, then turns his attention back to the screen. "Hmmm, well, we're right at the part where Deacon has captured his first victim. He's confused, angry, thirsty. Your girl…" He looks at me and smiles. "Your girl is obviously shit-scared." He laughs.
"Right." I glance at the screen, skimming over the last few paragraphs.
And he goes back to fucking humming. "So I think we just go through the natural progressions. He's got her in the house, bound to a bed. What’s next? Does he torture her? Does he play with her? Or does he just get the deed over and done with?" He taps his chin, eyes to the ceiling. He finally puts a finger up and nods approvingly. "I think he fucks with her. It's his first kill. He won't be able to control himself."
Natural progressions? There's a natural progression to murder… and it evidently begins with torture. I clear my throat and look back at the computer screen, at the flashing cursor.
And then he begins to type.
I can barely believe my eyes. It's almost like a dream, like if I pinch myself, I'll come jolting from my sleep back to my hideously boring reality. But it's not a dream, and her trembling, naked body handcuffed to the bed frame is a nice little reminder of that. So is the smell of piss that's taken up the room since I started handling the hacksaw.
"What’s wrong, sweetheart?" I lift the saw and shake it. "Just because I brought it doesn't mean I'll use it."
I smile and wink at her, then I look back at the table holding a duffel bag and all the tools I just pulled from it. I brought a lot with me. It's my first time, so I'm not really sure what I'll end up using. As I survey my inventory, a rush takes over me. I look back at her quivering on the dirty mattress, and I can't help but smile. Twenty-seven years have led to this day right here.
Edwin stops typing and glances at me with a curious look in his eye. "What would you say to him in this situation? Would you beg him?"
"I mean…" I drag in a breath. "I haven't ever really, um…" A slight smirk plays across his lips, and it leaves me unsettled. "I guess I would beg him. Try to make him see me as a person…"
"Haven’t ever really what? Please, finish that sentence."
I swallow. Hard. "Uh, it's just that I've never really thought about what I would do, you know?"