Marrow

KYRIE

Time grinds to a halt.

It starts as a tremble in my lips. A tremor in my shoulders. A breath trapped in my lungs, begging to release with a whoosh, a tempting relief for the pain that swirls in whiteout drifts beneath my bones. I try to trap it in an unsteady exhalation, but Jack notices right away, his shoulders tensing. It takes him a moment to face me, as though he has to gather his resolve to watch me unravel right next to him.

“Why are the flowers all blue,” I whisper, tears gathering on my lashes, one falling to carve a streak down my skin.

Jack could give me a hundred different lies.

Maybe he considers it as he takes a step closer.

He raises a hand to my face. His eyes follow the track of his thumb as it passes through another tear that follows the path laid down by the first.

“You’re asking questions you already know the answers to, lille mejer,” Jack says.

It takes an eternity for him to lift his gaze the short distance from my cheek to my eyes. He leans down, not taking his hand from where it rests on the side of my face, his breath warming my tears. The softest kiss presses to my lashes when I close my eyes.

I could ask him why. Why would he spend years trying to match a flower to the color of my irises, yet spend the rest of his time trying to push me to leave West Paine? But if I asked, would he even know the answer? Whatever he feels is cocooned, and when his strongest emotions tear through the tomb of silken tissue, I don’t know if he understands any of it.

My hand curls around his wrist. The stitches press against his pulse. The evidence of his care is right there in my skin, in the beat of his heart against the wound he helped to heal.

“This was never about gratitude, or recognition, or acknowledging that you deserved to be at West Paine, or even that I left you to die in your home, is it,” Jack says when he pulls back just far enough to watch my reaction. When I remain silent, his brows hike in a silent request for an answer as he frames my face between his hands.

I swallow and shake my head. And still he waits, looking into me, burrowing under every layer until each one is torn away. When I try to drop my gaze he tilts my face up with gentle pressure, a wordless plea to not back away.

“No,” I finally whisper.

“This is about me forcing you to feel alone. Unwanted.”

Alone.

Unwanted.

Those words explode in the air like little bombs.

My chest aches. More tears crest my lashes but Jack draws them away with his thumbs. “Stop,” I say, though I don’t let go or try to break his hold.

“No,” he replies. Just no. It’s the softest thing he’s ever said to me, and yet it cuts just as deep as his cruelest words. It’s the slice of a scalpel. The glimpse beneath an incision to pull out what hides beneath the flesh.

“Stop. Please, Jack.”

“No. I have wasted so much time. And now it feels like there’s not enough.”

I open my mouth to beg. Because if he scrapes this layer away, nothing remains to keep him out. There will be no thin veil of rage left to hide behind.

But Jack speaks before I can gather the words.

“I can’t promise I won’t hurt you again. We both know that life doesn’t work that way,” Jack says, his eyes soldered to mine even though I keep my focus trained on his lips. I can feel his silver gaze, boring into my mind like screws. “But look around you, lille mejer. You are not unwanted. You are not alone. You are unique.” Jack bends his head until his eyes are level with mine and I have no choice but to meet their sharpened determination. “You are a bright and blinding light in the dark. Luminous. And I’m sorry I made you feel like anything less than that.”

Jack keeps hold of my gaze, waiting for the words to sink beneath the wound he’s made before he presses his lips to mine, sealing it closed. The kiss lasts no longer than a ragged breath, and then he pulls me into an embrace.

And that’s all it takes to break open.

Just an embrace. Just thoughts turned to actions that might seem small, but they are keys to locked doors. He gives me the things he knows I need. Brass when I break glass. Stitches in a wound. The last remains of an enemy, a prized trophy. An apology, even though he might be incapable of feeling remorse. But he’s trying.

And what is love if not that.

Maybe Jack will never feel it. Maybe he does and will never know.

But I can feel it. I know its shapes and colors, its camouflage. I was made what I am in one night and the days of pain that followed. I wasn’t born and raised this way. I’ve loved and been loved, and lost it all.

When I look across his shoulder through my drying lashes, surrounded by shades of blue and the scent of flowers, sheltered in his unwavering embrace, I know I’m falling in love with Jack Sorensen.

Even if he leaves.

Even if he can never love me back the same way.

I can’t stop myself. And even if I could, I don’t think I want to fight it anymore. That’s what I’ve been trying my hardest to crush and conquer, this willingness to let my wrath go. And I’ve failed. I might regret it when he disappears to wherever he’s planning to go, but right now, it’s all I ever really wanted. To not feel alone. To feel accepted the way I am, as the person I want to be. The one who embraced the darkness that tried to claim her and made it her own. Not the one who would only be loved for what I could have been. A mask.

Little by little, I relax into Jack’s embrace, resting my head against his neck and shoulder. The sky darkens above us to a deep indigo as the sun sinks below a distant horizon. Jack’s heart drums its steady beat against my skin, coaxing my breathing into a slower, even rhythm. He doesn’t seem restless or keen to part. He just lets one hand drift through my hair in a slow, melodic cadence, stopping every time he catches a little knot from the autumn wind just to start at the beginning again.

It isn’t until a timer switches the grow lamps off and the only light to reach us crawls through the narrow door that Jack stills the motion of his hand.

“Min elskede, bliv venligst,” Jack whispers without breaking his embrace.

“I don’t know—what is that?”

“Danish.”

“I don’t know Danish.”

“I’m aware,” he says, his arms tightening a fraction. Maybe he thinks I won’t notice, but I do. “Stay.”NôvelDrama.Org © 2024.

“I have a dog.”

“We established that.”

“He sheds.”

“I do know how to operate a vacuum, Dr. Roth.”

“He barks.”

“Often the purpose of a guard dog, or so I’m told. We can go back and get him now, and whatever else you need.”

“He’s at Joy’s.”

Jack lifts his shoulder. “Then we’ll get him tomorrow on our way to get more of your belongings from your house.”

“We?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Don’t you think Joy will have questions?”

Jack shrugs again, nonplussed.

“Jack…even if she never says a word to anyone, people are going to notice, especially if I stay for days on end. We don’t even know how long Hayes might remain. People will talk.”

“Good. Let them. The more attention there is on you, the less likely Hayes will be to make a rash move,” Jack says, releasing his embrace to take hold of my shoulders.

“But—”

“Stay. I do not give a fuck what they think, Kyrie. We need to limit his access to you on your own. I doubt he would try anything on the campus, but he might at your home. He’s already showed up there. He’s fucking been inside.” The fury in his words cracks like a whip, his fingers tightening on my shoulders. Even in the dim light, Jack’s eyes seem to flash, cutting a path through the night. “I will not let him get that close again.”

Neither of us moves for a long, silent moment. My insides feel raw, my sharp edges debrided.

I’ve wasted so much time, Jack said.

And now it feels like there’s not enough.

There’s never enough time for the things that I cherish, and always too much for the things I don’t want. As enticing as it is in some ways, I’m scared to be in Jack’s domain night after night with no lair of my own for refuge. But I also loathe the thought of time winning another victory over me.

“You haven’t shown me the whole house,” I say, watching the tension ease from Jack’s shoulders as my words settle in. “What if you have a collection of porcelain dolls? I hate those things.”

“Luckily, I put them in the attic before you arrived.”

“That’s a shame, because when I said the whole house I meant the whole house.” I raise a brow in challenge with the heavy emphasis of my last words. If I’m going to stay here, I want to see it all. I want to peel back a layer of Jack, just like he’s done to me.

Thoughts and worries and unspoken fears seem to weigh the air between us with thick, invisible threads. Jack’s eyes filter between mine, maybe trying to discern my emotions from my neutral expression. After a moment, he gives a single nod and lets his hands fall from my shoulders, offering one for me to take.

“I’ll give you a tour. And then you’ll stay.”

I place my hand in Jack’s and he leads me past the dining room, down the hallway where he took the call. There’s a bathroom and laundry on the right, an office and a home gym on the left with weights and a Peloton and treadmill.

“Use it whenever you want,” Jack says when I turn a slow circle in the center of the room.

“I run with Cornetto. At the river.”

Jack lifts a shoulder as though this is not new information.

I sigh. He seems to enjoy my faint frown. “You’ll be joining us, I suppose.”

Jack’s silence is all the confirmation I need, and he switches off the light before I can savor the glint of amusement in his eyes.

Next, Jack leads me back down the hall into the kitchen, depositing me there to retrieve the bottle of Tequila from the conservatory. He pours a generous shot into the metal stemless glass I left on the countertop with a pointed, admonishing look that makes me grin. When his Scotch is refilled, Jack leads the way across the house to the stairs.

On the second level is a large bathroom with dark gray tiles and an extra wide shower, another vase of blue flowers on the counter between the double sinks, lilies this time. There are two guest bedrooms which Jack barely stops at and have probably never seen visitors. And then the main bedroom with an ensuite, the room simple and tasteful, the decor nondescript.

I drift forward to one of the windows overlooking the backyard and the peaked roof of the conservatory.

When I turn to face him, Jack is standing at the entrance, the bed looming like a fortress between us. He studies me as he leans against the doorframe and takes a sip of his drink. His other hand is deep in his pockets, turning something with a methodical rhythm. His lighter. I miss the weight of it in my palm, the metallic flick of the lid.

“Which room is mine?” I ask, nodding toward the corridor.

“This one.”

“Then which one is yours?”

“Also this one.”

“I can stay in one of your guest rooms,” I say, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

Jack’s eyes darken. “No. You will not.”

“I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”

“You’re really going to take away my excuse to redden your ass?”

“I’m sure you’ll find another.”

We exchange false smiles that mask desire. I try not to look at the bed, hiding my emotions behind a long sip of Tequila. Even still, I can’t resist the urge to chew my lower lip in the silence that draws out between us.

“The dolls are in the attic,” Jack says. “Want to see?”

“I’ll take a pass. Show me something else. Something you’ve never shown anyone.”

The levity dissipates from Jack’s eyes.

He seems to know I really won’t stay unless he takes me where I want to go. And if this were a game, it would be mine to win. Jack might have torn down my defenses tonight, but he’s the one who must give up something he covets. He must make a choice: risk his darkest secrets…

…or risk me.

I follow every movement Jack makes, no matter how miniscule. The way he looks down into his Scotch, his blink a fraction longer than typical. The twitch of the muscle in his jaw when he presses his molars together. The shift in the column of his neck as he swallows.

Jack takes another sip of his drink and lets go of the lighter before extending his hand.

“Come on. I’ll show you what you want to see.”

When I walk around the bed and lay my palm in his, he doesn’t move from the door, pulling me closer instead. His gaze scours my face like crystals of ice and my smile unfurls, a defiant bloom beneath the snow.

“One day, lille mejer, I will stop underestimating your ability to turn anything to your favor.”

I stretch on my toes, coaxing Jack closer so I can whisper a devious grin against his skin. “I certainly hope not, Dr. Sorensen. That would really inhibit my fun.”

Our eyes lock, even though we’re so close that Jack’s features are unfocused. My lips draw across his stubble as I pull away. Not a kiss, but an enticement. A promise. Maybe a reward. I press my fingers a little tighter around his hand, and with a final, thoughtful frown, Jack leads the way downstairs.

We end up back in his office, where he stops at one of the three bookcases that line the walls. Jack bends and presses his finger beneath the lowest shelf, waiting until a quiet beep confirms his touch. The bookcase unlatches and swings back from the wall, revealing a narrow wine cellar, the diamond-shaped shelves stocked with bottles.

“Are you going to add me to your biometrics?” I ask as Jack continues to the end of the room, finding another sensor hidden beneath the frame of a cubby hole on the far wall. Another soft digital chime, another shelf swinging open to reveal a hidden door. “I feel like I should have access to the wine supply at least.”

“Knowing you, you’ll find your way in without my permission,” Jack replies as he unlocks the iron door.

“I can’t help but note that’s not truly a response to my question, Dr. Sorensen.”

He only casts me a brief smile before flicking on a light switch and gesturing for me to step inside.

Jack’s trophy room is the first one in the house where I get a true sense of him. Even the conservatory is more like a window, one that only lets me peer into his thoughts of me. But the trophy room, that’s like throwing open the door to his soul.

The room is long and narrow, an older couch lining one wall, its worn upholstery covered with throws and mismatched pillows that are somehow still harmonious. Aside from the flowers, it’s the first time I’ve noticed any color and pattern in the house, though the tones are still dark and jeweled. Opposite the couch and the end tables that bracket it is a table and bookshelf that houses annotated texts and a row of binders. At the end of the room is a small storage shelving area and next to it a locked steel door, the cold radiant from its unforgiving surface.

And everywhere on the walls, Jack’s art.

Pencil. Charcoal. Sketches of flesh peeled back from bones, the style clinical yet evocative. Some are femurs, each one a unique study of particular features. The shine of the smooth patellar surface. Tiny striations on the intertrochanteric line near the neck of the bone. Others are clavicles, or mandibles, or fibulae. But most abundant are hyoids. Beautiful and delicate, rendered at different angles. The shallow concavities on the body. The lesser horns that link the floating bone to the stylohyoid muscle. And next to the sketches are the bones themselves, preserved in locked glass cases.

I take time to look at many of them, comparing the similarities and differences between the sketches and the bones. Sometimes, the drawings are faithful representations. In other sketches, it seems like Jack was drawing from a different model. “You draw them before you kill them, don’t you. That’s why they’re not always alike,” I say as I lean closer to examine one bone and sketch pairing that are markedly mismatched.

“Yes,” Jack says as he stops by my side. He tilts his drink toward the case, the ice within clinking against the metal. “I was surprised to be so far off with that one.”

“Not more surprised than the man you took it from, I’m sure,” I say with a grin before turning away.

I make my way to the steel door, taking time to appreciate Jack’s art and trophies with every step. I spot one sketch taped to the wall that’s not like the others and recognize the setting immediately. It’s my condo where we killed Sebastian. In the image, I’m asleep on the couch, which did happen after we spent time cleaning and Jack went to retrieve his vehicle from a parking garage near the club so he could drive the body across state lines. In Jack’s rendering, however, I’m not wearing any clothes, though I know I had changed to sweats and a tank top before resting as I waited for him to return and pick up Sebastian. I remember waking to find Jack already back in my living room, watching me with a dark, unreadable look that I thought had more to do with the cold body on the floor between us than with me.

Maybe I was wrong.

Though I want to voice my questions about the pieces falling into place in my mind as I examine the details of the image, Jack steers me away from the sketch and toward my true prize, my desired destination.

The cold steel door.

My pulse pounds in anticipation. I don’t want to just see the meticulously preserved aftermath of his efforts. I want to see where Jack comes undone, to stand in the room where the angel of death bursts through his thin restraints.

I stand next to the locked latch handle and face Jack, my eyebrows hiking as he regards me for a long moment before approaching, withdrawing a key from his pocket. He barely looks at the latch as he unlocks it, keeping his eyes on me instead. With a deep breath of hesitation, he opens the door and holds it open for me to step into the rush of cold air.

Five concrete stairs descend into the square room, the walls lined floor-to-ceiling with white PVC panels. It’s much like a medical suite, with stainless-steel shelves and counters and tables with wheels. An IV pole stands in one corner of the room. There’s a row of medication vials on one shelf, a tray of syringes waiting next to them. There are scalpels and rib shears and toothed forceps laid out on one of the mobile tables. The faint scent of bleach lingers in the air. A pop of blue catches my eye, a vase of poppies resting on the counter near the deep, stainless-steel sink.

And in the center of the room, a gurney with thin black padding and restraints dangling from the swing-down side rails.

I drain my Tequila in a single shot before turning to face Jack. He stands unmoving at the bottom step, one hand gripping his glass a little too tight for his nonchalant stance, his other hand turning the lighter in his pocket.

“So,” I say, my breath fogging as I set my glass down on a counter and saunter closer, running a finger over the mattress of the gurney as I slowly approach him. “This is where the magic happens.”

Suspicion folds through Jack’s eyes as I stop close enough to feel his body heat through my clothes. But the cold air still burrows in, and the instant a little chill shivers through my body, his gaze slices over me—lips, throat, breasts, back to lips again. It remains on my mouth as though fused there, even when I pull his drink from his hand. “Why do I get the feeling I should be fearing for my life?” he asks.

I keep hold of Jack’s glass as I rest my other palm on his chest, capturing the beat of his heart before following the wall of muscle that tapers toward his clavicle. It doesn’t escape my notice that his pulse is faster than its usual steady rhythm, the beat quickening as my touch flows up his jugular to rest at the back of his neck.

“You said to spare you, for just a little while,” I reply as I pull him down until his lips meet mine. “It’s been long enough.”

I press a kiss to Jack’s lips that deepens with every breath that passes between us. My tongue demands to taste the Scotch that lingers on his. A little nip to Jack’s lips shreds a layer of his restraint and he pushes me back toward the center of the room. One of his hands grips my hip with bruising force while the other dives beneath the hem of my shirt to follow the lines of my ribs, his thumb tracing the underside of my breast with a slow sweep across the lace. It passes back over my peaked nipple and he groans, breaking the kiss to bite into the cold flesh of my neck.

“You put an idea into my head, Dr. Sorensen. And once it was there, I couldn’t get rid of it,” I say, my voice husky with desire as Jack’s lips and teeth trace a path up my jugular.

“And what’s that, lille mejer?” he whispers between urgent kisses.

My palm follows the hard length of his erection as I smile at his responding groan. A stronger bite sinks into my skin when I cup his cock through his pants with a firm grip.

The sound of scraping metal fills the cold air with a promise as I release the latch on Jack’s belt buckle. “The cold room on campus. Do you remember what you said before the meeting about Mason?”

“Do you think I would forget?”

I shake my head and Jack grips my jaw, keeping me locked in place as he devours me with a desperate kiss. My desire matches his, my need for him ferocious, twisting my core with a demanding ache. But I force it down. I break away with a hand to Jack’s rioting heart, and when he looks at me with a crease in his brows as though questioning if he did something wrong, I give him a wicked smile in reply.

“You know,” I say, keeping my hand on Jack’s chest as his breaths saw beneath my palm, “It took me far too long to put it all together.” I raise one finger around the metal glass in a request for a moment’s reprieve as I knock back the rest of his Scotch. The look in Jack’s eyes is one of trepidation, and I torture him for a little longer than necessary before explaining my meaning. “The cold. The kiss when I baited you about getting hot. The piercings.”

Jack’s eyes are lethal with need.

I don’t look away as I raise the cold metal to my lips and tilt my head back until a shard of ice slips onto my tongue. When I lower the glass, I make a show of pulling the ice chip through my pursed lips, holding it up between us like a prize. Then I set the glass down on a table within reach and grasp the waistband of Jack’s pants and briefs, tugging him closer.

“Are you going to be sweet to me, Jack?” I ask, my wide eyes the picture of virtue as I press up against his chest, driving the hand still gripping his clothing down with agonizing slowness to free his erection. Jack grasps my elbow and steadies me as I lower my knees to the unforgiving concrete.

“Not a fucking chance, petal.”

The innocence of my expression lifts like a mask of fog, burning away to reveal the wicked creature lying beneath.

“Thank fuck for that,” I say, gripping his erection. I run the shard of ice across one of the studs closest to the base of his cock before skating the Prince Albert piercing across the length of my tongue, relishing the bead of salty precum gathered at the head. Jack’s breathing grows ragged as the ice moves across the titanium in slow circles, from one stud to the next, cooling them down to what I hope is the edge between pleasure and pain. He pulls off his shirt, his expression almost agonized, like he’s burning and desperate for the embrace of cold air. But if he’s suffering, I’m not here to offer mercy. I caress the crown of his cock with gentle, teasing licks, tracing his piercing before taking it between my teeth with a gentle tug that has Jack hissing with desire.

“Jesus…fuck…” Jack tilts his head back as his hands tangle into my hair, his eyes closing as he sinks into the pleasure of the warring sensations, the cold ice battling my warm lips as I tighten them around the crown. I dance the tip of my tongue along the Prince Albert and he groans, his grip on my strands tightening. My motion slows until he meets my eyes and I pull away to place the melting ice on my tongue, holding his erection by the base as I lick each rung of his Jacob’s ladder. When Jack is shuddering and his eyes are little more than a thin slash of silver around his blown pupils, I crunch the shard of ice and grab another from the glass on the table.

“I once promised myself I’d make you suffer,” I whisper as I drag the ice up one side of titanium studs and down the other. “This wasn’t what I first had in mind, but I have to admit, Dr. Sorensen, I like this much better.”

I take my time with Jack, rolling the ice across the Prince Albert, sucking on the other studs, raking my nails across his balls, pressing my lips to them, drawing them into my mouth. Sometimes, he hisses my name like a curse. Others, a stream of Danish passes from his lips on an unsteady breath. Din skide gudinde. Du dræber mig…

When he’s been well and truly tortured, I take the head of his cock past my lips and suck, closing my eyes as I moan into his flesh.

His restraint shatters in the heat of my mouth.

“Open your eyes,” Jack commands, fisting my hair as he shifts closer, pushing his cock deeper.

I do as he says. But I take my time to meet the glare that awaits me, sliding my gaze up every inch of tense muscle that towers over me. When our eyes connect, it’s like magnets snapping into place. I can’t look away.

“I’m going to choke that pretty throat with my cock, and you’re going to watch me do it. You’re going to take everything I give you. You’re going to swallow every rung of this fucking ladder and every drop of cum. And you will not take those beautiful blue eyes off me. Understand?”

My only response is the dark smile that lights my eyes and the swirl of my tongue across his piercings.

“Good girl.”

And with that invitation, Jack Sorensen fucks my mouth.

He grips my hair, tilts my head back, opens my throat for the invasion of his length. The piercings roll across the depths of my tongue and the walls of my throat and I gag, tears streaming down my face. But I don’t take my eyes from Jack’s. Even though the ache in my jaw is brutal and the sensation of titanium slipping through my mouth is foreign, I still want more. I can’t get enough of him. The pain across my scalp. The throbbing in my clit. The burning need for friction. I want it all.

Every thrust pushes deeper, giving me just enough time to acclimate to his length and girth before his cock is filling my throat again. I swallow and take it all, every rung until my face is nearly flush with his pelvis and the scent of sex and vetiver floods my nostrils. I run my hands up his abs and he shivers with my touch as it slides through the mist of sweat gathered on his skin, his gooseflesh rising in the chill of the air. And then I grip his waist and take him a fraction deeper still, bobbing my head with thrusts as I hum my satisfaction around his cock.

“Kyrie…” he hisses through gritted teeth. One of his hands folds tight around my throat and he thrusts long and deep and hard. I feel his muscles tightening beneath my fingertips, his hard length pulsing against my tongue. And then he roars my name, the sound cutting through the cold air, his cum a hot invasion that I swallow down with a contended moan.

I suck every inch of his cock as I slowly release him from my mouth with a wicked pop. Jack is trembling, his exhalations fogging the air. He turns to grip the edge of the gurney as though his legs might give out and I rise, wiping my mouth and cheeks with the sleeve of his borrowed shirt.

“That’s not all, is it, Jack?” I ask as I turn away toward the shelves.

He doesn’t answer, but I feel his question linger in the cold.

I look across the neat row of medication vials.

Succinylcholine. Epinephrine. Lovenox.

Midazolam.

I pull the vial from the shelf with a sly smile.

“The cold. It’s not all you want,” I say, taking a syringe from the tray next to the ampules. My teeth clutch around the pink cap on the needle and I spit it out across the stainless-steel countertop, purely for theatrics. I plunge the pointed tip into the vial of midazolam and tilt it upside down, withdrawing 2.5mg of the clear liquid.

When I place the vial back on the tray and turn to face Jack, his gaze burns through me. He might have just been spent down my throat, but the sight of the needle and everything it means has him straightening as adrenaline surely floods the caverns in his heart. It won’t be long before he’s ready for the next round.

“You want a sleeping beauty,” I say, stopping at the edge of the gurney across from Jack as he pulls up his pants and briefs. The motion of his hands slows as his eyes dart from the syringe to me. “Somnophilia.”

“Kyrie—”

“This is your chance to take me while I’m quiet,” I say with a cheeky wink and a sinful smile. I keep the needle poised between my fingers as I hook my other hand into the waistband of my leggings and shimmy them over my ass and thighs to toe them off. Jack’s hand runs through his hair when he takes in the sight of my bare legs beneath his shirt, my skin pebbling in the cold air. “Don’t you want me silent and compliant, for once? You can do anything you want to me. Taste me. Fuck me. Manipulate me. Dominate me. Spray your cum all over me while my eyes are closed and my limbs are limp. Maybe I’ll wake to your cock already thrusting balls-deep into my swollen pussy and I’ll beg you to keep going. Anything you want, I’m giving you permission to take it. Don’t you want that, Jack? Don’t you want me?”

“Kyrie, Jesus Christ—”

“Stop fighting yourself. You said you were done standing in the way of what you wanted. I’m offering,” I say as I clutch the side rail of the gurney with my free hand and haul myself onto the mattress, the PVC surface cold on my bare skin when I sit facing him. I poise the needle to the general vicinity of my jugular. “I want this too, Jack. I trust you.”

The conflict in Jack’s eyes is a delicious torment that I devour like a starved beast. “This is dangerous, Kyrie. You’ve had alcohol.”

A sigh passes my lips through a petulant pout as I pull the syringe away from my neck to examine the dosage. I press the plunger until a few drops trickle through the needle before holding it to my skin once more. “There. Happy now?”

Silence stretches between us. Jack is torn in a torturous moment. One of need. One of fantasy. One of fear, a man who fears so little, who takes what he wants without regret or remorse. But he fears this, and it will make taking it that much sweeter if he just gives in.

I sink the needle into my flesh just enough for a hint of pain and a drop of blood. Jack’s restraint blisters. It’s a bubble nearly ready to burst.

“I don’t even know if I’m in the right spot. Do you really want me to miss?” I ask, and before the question has even left my lips he’s whipped the needle from my hand and plunged it into my jugular, dispensing the drug into my veins.

My triumphant smirk falls slack beneath Jack’s heated gaze as I drop into a dreamless sleep.