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The tacky substance stuck to my skin like honey, my eyes fixated on the way the translucent film popped when I pinched my fingers together before prying my thumb from my middle digit.
As much as I still loved the feel of it coating my hands, this wasn’t blood. No, this was another of my preferred bodily fluids.
The light sheen of precum coated pretty boy’s cock as it glistened under the light of our bedside table, the lickable V of his abdominal muscles mine for the taking, and the darkened raised skin a reminder that this man had and would take a knife for me now bouncing with each sharp intake of his breath. I lowered my mouth to the tip, needing a taste of what I did to him, what he could do to me as soon as I let him do it.
Connor groaned, his arms thrashing against the cuffs I’d secured to the metal hooks drilled into the headboard. Sometimes the fucker needed a lesson when it came toremembering who was in control. Though we both knew he liked itandthe feel of me slowly impaling myself on his cock, my palms flat on his chest and my head thrown back.
I’d loved to tell ya the shit dissipated over time, that the sex got boring and less addictive. It didn’t. If anything, a daily dose was hardly enough. For us at least. While the tapping of Mrs. Johnson’s broom on the ceiling above us told me it wasmore than enoughfor the elderly tenant presently living in the second-floor apartment of our small rent-controlled duplex. The crazy old bat was less than pleased with her new neighbors. It was a matter of time before we gave the poor woman a heart attack.
My lips curled at the thought before the ringing of my burner phone had them dropping into a frown just as quickly. I pulled up and off Connor, stomped over to the dresser, and swiped the device up with a frustrated hand. My eyes glued to the man still strapped to our bed with an irritated expression on his face and a heavy set of blue balls between his thighs.
“Who is it?” he mouthed from across the room.
It took some time, but pretty boy finally learned to keep quiet whenever this particular phone started ringing. It was safer for everyone involved. I lifted a finger, gesturing for him to give me a minute, and returned my focus to whomever the fuck was on the other end of my discreet line.
“Danica… it’s been too long.”
“Just under two years,” I replied. The caller didn’t have to introduce themselves. I might not have recognized the number but I knew the voice all too well.
“Glad you remembered.”
I could hear his grin through the phone, and it sent that familiar chill up my spine. “When and wher?—?”
Before I could finish asking the question, the line was cut and a text came through with an address for a location somewhere in downtown Chicago.
I slammed the phone back onto the dresser and glanced up at Connor, as my mouth tipped into what I was hoping at least appeared to be an apologetic smile. “Think your parents would mind us dropping in for a little visit?”
THE END
