Page 61 of White Noise

My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic rhythm of terror and a sickening, traitorous jolt of arousal.

I don’t think. I can’t.

I scramble out of the chair, my bare feet slapping against the hardwood as I sprint downstairs. I practically fly into the kitchen, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I rip open the drawer, my fingers fumbling until they close around the pink handle of the utility knife.

I sprint back upstairs, my chest heaving, and drop into the chair in front of the monitor.

Silas smiles the second I come back into view.

“Good girl,” he says, voice low and mean through the speakers. “Look at you fucking running around because your favorite little pervert might die.”

My jaw tightens, while his smile only gets worse.

“So eager to do what I say now, huh?” He gives Void another slow pull against the cable. “Funny how fast that mouth of yours shuts up when keeping him alive depends on whether you listen to me.”

I look at the blade—sharp, cold, fucking lethal.

How the fuck am I supposed to fuck myself with this. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve fulfilled enough weird requests. But a knife? I can’t just shove it in; I’d slice myself open.

My eyes dart around the room and land on a pair of discarded lace panties on the floor.

I grab them, my hands trembling, and wrap the fabric tightly around the base of the blade, creating a makeshift sheath that leaves only the blunt, rounded end exposed but keeps the edge safely buffered.

I hold the knife up to the camera. Silas is watching, his gaze hungry.

“Suck it,” he commands. “Suck on that fucking handle, Saga, and think about me. Think about how it felt when I touched you. About how I own every inch of your ruined little body.”

I slide the pink plastic handle into my mouth, sucking on it greedily. I close my eyes for a second, and suddenly I’m not in my room anymore. I can feel the ghost of his touch, the vibration of his voice humming through my skin, the oppressive weight of his presence.

I moan around the metal, my tongue swirling over the handle, my pussy pulsing and soaking my thighs.

“That’s it, you little slut,” Silas groans, his voice thick with possessive pride. “Look at you, craving the thing that hurts you. You’re so broken, aren’t you? Just a hollow little shell for me to fill with whatever I want.”

I slide the knife down, the fabric-wrapped blade pressing against my soaking wet slit. I gasp, my hips arching. The pressure is different from a toy—it’s harder, more dangerous.

“Push it in,” he orders, his voice a commanding snap. “Fuck yourself with it. I want to see you stretch for me. I want to see you take every bit of that steel.”

I let out a guttural cry as I shove the knife inside.

The blunt end hits my cervix, a sharp, shocking sensation that sends a bolt of electricity straight to my brain. I begin to pump it, the wet, slapping sound of the fabric against my pussy filling the silence of the room. I’m sobbing, my head tossing back, my fingers gripping the edges of the desk so hard my knuckles turn white.

Silas’s attention shifts to Void, and the smile on his face turns vicious.

“Look at her,” he says, almost laughing. “This is what you paid for, right? Three fucking years of tips, private sessions, all that patient little bullshit, and you still thought someday it might mean something.”

Void’s breathing turns rough.

Silas leans closer, eyes cutting back to me through the camera. “Too bad.”

His voice drops lower, colder.

“You’ll never have her.” He lets that sit for a beat, enjoying it. “Not the way I do. Faster,” he sneers. “Fuck yourself harder. I want you screaming. I want Void to hear exactly how much you enjoy this while he bleeds out on the floor.”

Void tries to look away, but Silas forces his attention back toward the screen.

“No, go on. Fucking watch.” His mouth curves. “You wanted access so fucking badly. Here it is.”

Then his eyes find mine again.