Page 13 of The Code of You

I took a breath. Staying here wasn’t an option. I had to keep moving, get myself out of reach of those eyes. If that was even possible. I forced one foot in front of the other. The feeling trailed after me, clung to me like tar. My muscles were so tight I could barely move. My heart was pounding in my throat.

It felt like an eternity before I finally rounded the corner. All at once, the burning was gone. I let out the breath I’d been holding and leaned against a wall. Goddamn it. Whatever that was, it had my scent. I pulled myself away from the safety of the bricks and practically ran the rest of the way home.

Out of breath, I shut the door behind me and peeled off my coat. I was shaking. Something about the way those eyes had followed me . . . It had turned me on. God, what was happening to me? Every muscle was clenched tight. I needed release. I needed something that . . .

My eyes landed on the laptop sitting on the kitchen counter. I grabbed it and sank onto the couch. My pulse quickened with anticipation as I pulled up my browser history. I clicked on Under His Command – Erotic Short Stories and started reading. A pleasant warmth spread through my lower belly. My nipples hardened. Hesitantly, my hand moved over my breasts, my stomach, down to the waistband of my jeans.

Tell me, Dr. Blake, do you touch yourself to these fantasies?

His words surfaced in my mind out of nowhere, but this time they didn’t frighten me. This time they ignited a fire between my legs. I slipped my hand inside my jeans. Before I could push my underwear aside, my gaze caught the laptop camera. The light was on. I yanked my hand out of my pants like I’d been burned, snapped the laptop shut, and hurled it to the other end of the couch in a desperate attempt to put more distance between Dante and me. But he wasn’t even here. He didn’t need to be. He was already inside my head.

***

The sun broke through the clouds as I drove down Elm Street. I rolled the window halfway down. The air smelled of earth, cool against my cheeks. Today I was going to confront Dante. I was going to show him he couldn’t play his sick game with me.

The buzz of my phone pulled me from my thoughts. Mother. I pulled over to the side of the road. Slowly, I lifted the phone to my ear. "Hello.”

"Pandora. Finally.” The voice was the same as always: a little too loud, a little too precise, as if she wanted to nail down every syllable.

"Hello, Mother.”

"How are things?”

"Pretty good. Busy with work right now.”

"Work is good. Better than the alternative.” She cleared her throat. "Are you making progress?”

"Yes, I think so.”

"You think so.” She made that sound with her tongue, a short click against her teeth.

My stomach clenched. I’d been eight years old the first time I heard it. I’d painted her a picture, something with horses, because I loved them. She’d looked at it and made that sound. "Nice,” she’d said, and set the picture on a pile.

"One should know where one stands,” she said.

I stared through the windshield. A white delivery van turned into a driveway. "Yes, I know.”

"Your cousin Elena got a new position, by the way. Department head, can you imagine? In her early thirties.”

I gripped the steering wheel. "Good for her.”

"Yes, she’s always known what she wanted. Even as a child.” She paused for a moment, as if drifting off in thought. "And otherwise? How’s the professorship coming along? Any movement there?”

"It’s still early.” My stomach felt like an invisible hand was squeezing it.

"Early.” Again, the short click against her teeth.

"In the humanities, these things take longer.”

"Yes, you’ve said that before.” She fell silent again, then laughed. "I cleared out your old room last week, by the way. It was time. There were still boxes from college in there.”

"What did you do with them?”

"I threw them out. There was nothing important left in them.”

I said nothing, thought about the boxes, knew exactly what had been in them. Books I’d read at sixteen, dog-eared and underlined. A diary I’d never finished writing. Letters from a friend I’d eventually lost touch with. Nothing important.

"Pandora?”