I have almost forgotten about him, my mind elsewhere, my mouth going through automatic motions—suck, gag, bury, tease—when I hear the chime of a message.

freebird71: turn around. doggie style. muffle your mouth.

It’s a request I wouldn’t normally think twice about. Muffling my voice into a pillow—it’s about as tame as domination gets. But tonight… this client… I pull my mouth off of the cock, sliding the attachment and camera both lower, till they are at a more appropriate level. Standing, I strip free of my panties, taking my time before dropping back to my knees, my ass to the camera. I slide into the doggie-style position, giving him a view he will appreciate, pushing back until the toy is at my entrance. Then I wait, turning my head and looking into the camera. Bob my ass a bit, so that the toy teases me without going in.

freebird71: fuck me

“Please,” I say with an edge to my tone.

His response comes quickly.

freebird71: fuck you

I laugh. Sit up. “One more chance, freebird. Say please or go find another girl.”

freebird71: fuck you

I reach over and end the chat. Lock down my computer and turn off the lights. My hands shaking slightly, I step to the window. Run my hands over the latch. I need just a glimpse of the stars. Just a breath of the air. One minute’s worth, then I’ll sleep. I touch the metal of the latch. Press my hands against the glass to stop them from shaking.

My level of need for the action is suddenly scary. An indication of my loss of control. I watch my hands tremble against glass and wonder at the danger behind it. I have to control myself. Cannot need any of the freedoms I allow myself. Cannot grow addicted to the outside world as I have grown addicted to the thought of death. I pull my hands from the window. I may not be able to handle the scent of freedom. I am getting weaker. I suddenly don’t trust myself or any of my justifications. I turn my back to the window and move to the shower.

His mouth set, Marcus reaches for the mouse, clicking the button that takes him back to free chat. The little bitch. Thinking she holds the power. Thinking she can make him beg like a dog. There are a thousand other girls on this site. Who cares if they don’t speak English? Who cares if they have tattoos and piercings? Who cares if they let him use them without argument? That snobby bitch. Making him say “please” like he is a child. He is paying her. She should take her money like a good whore and say, Thank you. Yes, sir. Whatever the fuck you want. Not sit there with her stony stare and demand that he kiss her ass. God, if only she were in front of him. He would break her. She would beg him. Cry for him. Scream to God then scream to him. By the time he was done with her the only name she would know would be his.

Refresh. He jabs at the button over and over. Searches for her among the sea of slutty faces. But she doesn’t return, the late hour probably sending her to bed. Bitch.

He jacks off to the thought of smacking the smirk off her face, his hand moving in tune to the sound of her screams.

He will get her respect, put her in her place. Preferably in person. He is a powerful man. It will happen.

CHAPTER 31

“GOOD AFTERNOON, DEANNA.”

“Hey, Doc.” I bite into an apple, moving the phone away from my mouth as I chew.

“How are you doing today?”

“Haven’t killed anybody yet.” I smile, expecting—hoping for a chuckle. I should know better. Disapproving silence meets my ears, and I make a face into the receiver. “It’s a joke, Derek. I’m good.”

“Are you taking your meds?”

“Yep,” I lie smoothly, the word coming out casual, so perfect I decide to elaborate a bit, just because I’m bored and we have a half hour to fill. “I’m thinking about getting on birth control. Will the medicine affect that?”

Total silence. I grin, wishing I could see his face. “Why?” he finally manages, his voice tight and uncomfortable.

“Why what?” I crunch happily away.

“Why would you get on birth control?”

“For the same reason that normal people do. To avoid pregnancy.”

“You’re having sex?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Deanna, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I frown. “I’m not asking your permission. It’s my body. My life.” It’s not that I’m surprised by Derek’s response; he hasn’t exactly been on board with my relationship. But my flippant tease of Derek does bring to mind the risks associated if Jeremy and I do take that next step. The risks that are more emotionally damaging than physical. I don’t worry about physically hurting him during the act of sex. He has held me at bay enough to dissuade that fear. Plus, any homicidal thoughts seem to flee the moment my arousal begins. But emotionally… I think we are both in danger. I’m in danger of falling for a man who will one day discover the black actions of my soul and leave me. He’s in danger of falling for a girl who may one day kill him.