bondage rigger from a BDSM club, went down on me last night. In his room of torture devices and ropes. With my scar—that I show no one—on full display.
You’re being a bad girl again, I see. My dirty girl .
I shake the vile voice from my head and gather together the scattered sheets on my desk.
I’m embarrassed to admit, even to myself, how long it’s been since I’ve been with a man. I should feel ashamed of that, more so, than the fact that I was with Colton. Being with a man is normal. At my age, hell, it’s expected. And last night, we didn’t do anything—really—that verged on kink. It was vanilla compared to most scenes I’ve witnessed in the club.
Even so, Colton’s touch thoroughly shattered me—I can’t deny that. I can still feel his rough palms on my skin…his soft lips tenderly caressing, tasting…his taut muscles, hard and flexed, pressed against my thighs.
And what’s more, I’m hungry to feel him all over again.
It’s just the time between that’s shocking; I understand this. I haven’t thought of Isaiah in years. Only it’s impossible not to rewind to my last physical relationship—in my junior year of college—and compare. And cringe.
Has it really been that long?
Isaiah was the closest thing to love and understanding I’ve ever known, and not even he could beat back the darkness forever. In the end, it broke us. The fights, the accusations, the mistrust…the jealousy. And so much anger. I can still picture his face, striking even with its furious, hard lines, right before mine—his hot breath searing my cheeks as he shouted and I tried to turn away from him…
I always made him so angry.
It didn’t help that I was a psych major. Who psychoanalyzed him, over and over, no matter how hard he tried to convince me I was worthy of love.
It just never made sense to me back then.
It still doesn’t.
So it’s completely understandable that when Colton came along, offering validation for why I am the way that I am, it was an offer too tempting to resist.
And maybe I have to accept my shame as payment for my atonement.
Atonement.
That word sounds as foreign as it feels.
Would Colton be able to justify the full truth of me? If he knew everything? It’s unfair, really. Openness and trust; his words, his rules…now ours. Those things are as far out of reach to me as atonement.
A knock sounds at my office door, and I startle out of my dark musings. “It’s open.”
Quinn walks in with a serious, prepped look on his face. “You got the profile ready?”
Shit. Is it already time for the task force meeting? The morning just slipped away, and I’m hardly prepared to deliver a completed profile on the offender. Which is completely out of character for me. Last night was supposed to help me get back on my game, not turn my whole world inside out.
“You’re jumping the gun a little on this serial killer task force, aren’t you?” I say, reorganizing the sheets and placing them in an open file. “You’re still a body short.”
Every uniform and detective was on edge this morning as we waited for the call to come in. The one that would report the third victim. That call hasn’t come—yet. But Quinn still feels confident in calling the murders a serial, and is pushing the request through for the task force.
The call may not come today…but that doesn’t mean there’s not a body out there somewhere. At the rate the UNSUB is devolving, there could even be two.
“You want to hash it out real quick?” Quinn says, taking a seat in his usual spot. “We have about twenty-five minutes. Let’s go over what we know.”
With a long exhale, I pull up a doc I saved from my recent search and then turn the screen toward Quinn. “I’ve compiled a list of unsolved rapes and/or murders from the past three years encompassing the statewide area. There are three that stand out. Aside from the attacks occurring in each victim’s home, they were also posed. Not in the exact
You’re being a bad girl again, I see. My dirty girl .
I shake the vile voice from my head and gather together the scattered sheets on my desk.
I’m embarrassed to admit, even to myself, how long it’s been since I’ve been with a man. I should feel ashamed of that, more so, than the fact that I was with Colton. Being with a man is normal. At my age, hell, it’s expected. And last night, we didn’t do anything—really—that verged on kink. It was vanilla compared to most scenes I’ve witnessed in the club.
Even so, Colton’s touch thoroughly shattered me—I can’t deny that. I can still feel his rough palms on my skin…his soft lips tenderly caressing, tasting…his taut muscles, hard and flexed, pressed against my thighs.
And what’s more, I’m hungry to feel him all over again.
It’s just the time between that’s shocking; I understand this. I haven’t thought of Isaiah in years. Only it’s impossible not to rewind to my last physical relationship—in my junior year of college—and compare. And cringe.
Has it really been that long?
Isaiah was the closest thing to love and understanding I’ve ever known, and not even he could beat back the darkness forever. In the end, it broke us. The fights, the accusations, the mistrust…the jealousy. And so much anger. I can still picture his face, striking even with its furious, hard lines, right before mine—his hot breath searing my cheeks as he shouted and I tried to turn away from him…
I always made him so angry.
It didn’t help that I was a psych major. Who psychoanalyzed him, over and over, no matter how hard he tried to convince me I was worthy of love.
It just never made sense to me back then.
It still doesn’t.
So it’s completely understandable that when Colton came along, offering validation for why I am the way that I am, it was an offer too tempting to resist.
And maybe I have to accept my shame as payment for my atonement.
Atonement.
That word sounds as foreign as it feels.
Would Colton be able to justify the full truth of me? If he knew everything? It’s unfair, really. Openness and trust; his words, his rules…now ours. Those things are as far out of reach to me as atonement.
A knock sounds at my office door, and I startle out of my dark musings. “It’s open.”
Quinn walks in with a serious, prepped look on his face. “You got the profile ready?”
Shit. Is it already time for the task force meeting? The morning just slipped away, and I’m hardly prepared to deliver a completed profile on the offender. Which is completely out of character for me. Last night was supposed to help me get back on my game, not turn my whole world inside out.
“You’re jumping the gun a little on this serial killer task force, aren’t you?” I say, reorganizing the sheets and placing them in an open file. “You’re still a body short.”
Every uniform and detective was on edge this morning as we waited for the call to come in. The one that would report the third victim. That call hasn’t come—yet. But Quinn still feels confident in calling the murders a serial, and is pushing the request through for the task force.
The call may not come today…but that doesn’t mean there’s not a body out there somewhere. At the rate the UNSUB is devolving, there could even be two.
“You want to hash it out real quick?” Quinn says, taking a seat in his usual spot. “We have about twenty-five minutes. Let’s go over what we know.”
With a long exhale, I pull up a doc I saved from my recent search and then turn the screen toward Quinn. “I’ve compiled a list of unsolved rapes and/or murders from the past three years encompassing the statewide area. There are three that stand out. Aside from the attacks occurring in each victim’s home, they were also posed. Not in the exact
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