Page 73 of Soft Tissue Damage
“Shh, go back to sleep,” he whispered. “You’re too sore. I’ve worn you out enough.”
But I reached around him and stroked my hand up and down his cock.
Still he resisted me. “I don’t need to fuck you. I just want to hold you.”
But I pumped my hand harder along his length, trying to discern from his breathing and groans what he liked. Apparently he liked it all very much because he rolled on top of me, pushed my thighs apart with his knees, and sank inside of me. There was a small pinch of pain, but it gave way to pleasure as he fucked me, slowly at first, and then more urgently. As his breathing grew more ragged, he sat up and squeezed the flesh of my ass, his thrusts deep and purposeful.
“I fucking love your ass, darlin’.”
A moment later he groaned in my ear, and thrust twice more, three times, and then stilled, panting to catch his breath.
Cullan stayed where he was, lodged deep inside me, and stroked his fingers through my hair, over and over. How wonderful it feels to be adored by him. He reached beneath me and found my clit, and he sent hot sparks through me while his body was a deliciously heavy weighton me. I panted and cried out as my orgasm rapidly approached.
He murmured, “Good girl. Good girl,” in a deep voice. Being told good girl while he made me come sent me into outer orbit.
My new high heels have been neatly and prominently placed on the dresser so that the red soles are visible. They’re as clean and shiny as when I took them out of the box. Cullan must have taken his time removing the dust and grass from them. Remembering how he responded to me wearing these shoes, I imagine that it was a labor of love for him. Just the sight of the shoes is enough to make me feel hot all over again.
I get out of bed and take a peek into Rosie’s empty nursery, looking forward to her being back here and happily playing with her toys.
The house is so quiet without Cullan and Rosie. I open all the windows in the kitchen to let in the fresh breeze and bird sounds, and then I make myself a pot of coffee. While I wait for them to come home, I sip a steaming mug and scroll through my phone. Justine has posted an adorable photo of us from last night, and I like it and leave a comment with lots of hearts.
There’s also a private message from her sent just after three in the morning, probably as she was getting into bed.
Justine: Did you?????
I reply with three monkey-covering-his-eyes emojis. Justine doesn’t reply because she’s probably still sleeping.
I keep scrolling and see that one of the waitresses Iworked with at Archer’s has shared a news article, and what she’s written makes the smile fade from my face.
This is straight out of a horror film.
I read the accompanying headline. “Police Say Man in Red Mask is a Person of Interest in Blackport Killings.”
Clicking through, I scan the article. Despite the dramatic headline, the content is vague. Police have connected the attack of a suburban man and the slaying of a family, but they don’t reveal how they’re connected. The red mask is prominently mentioned, but they don’t describe it, and there’s no picture or sketch.
In the comments section, someone recommends a website called Murder Diaries for anyone who wants more information. I open a new browser and search for it, and I’m taken to a blog with a noir-style black theme and logo. There’s a photo of the blog owner, a woman with curly hair, winged eyeliner, and thick-framed black glasses. She looks both intellectual and quirky.
The most recent post on her website is titled, “Is There An Active Serial Killer in Blackport?”
I click on the link and start to read.
In Blackport, we’re no strangers to violence. Robberies and home invasions turning bloody happen just about daily. Organized crime executions are commonplace. Even so, there’s one kind of killer whose cruelty and senselessness are enough to send a shiver down our spines. A killer who strikes without warning and seemingly without reason. A killer who lurks in the shadows and wears a normal face by day.
A killer who murders to sate his twisted desires.
Even though I’ve never been interested in true crime, something about this piece has me forgetting to drink my coffee. The post contains more information about the murders than the news article did. It appears that the police have connected the crimes by how the people were killed, though they haven’t given any details. The victims seem to have been chosen at random, but careful planning went into the home invasion. They don’t say what kind of careful planning. The police know about the killer’s appearance based on CCTV footage that they’re holding back from the public, but they describe him. The killer is fit, he dresses in dark clothing with a hood up, he’s unusually tall and stands at over six-foot-six, and he wears a lurid red mask that covers his face with only eye holes cut into it. The author ofMurder Diariespoints out that red was probably chosen for a reason. She guesses that he wears the red mask to taunt the police, conceal his identity, and strike fear into the heart of his victims. The author points out that the killer knows he’ll be caught on camera, or wants to be caught on camera, but he’s clever enough to slip into the shadows unseen.
I vividly picture a tall, muscular man dressed in black clothing with a hood over his eyes, and his face concealed behind a bright red mask. Does he use a knife? A gun? There must be so much blood at the crime scenes. I remember there was blood everywhere the day Cullan rescued me in Fenton.
I’m examining the dates of the killings when the door from the garage suddenly opens, and a tall figure in darkclothing fills the doorway. I jump and gasp in fright as a primitive part of my brain takes over, screamingdanger.
A moment later, I realize that it’s Cullan, and he has Rosie in his arms. I put a hand over my pounding heart and sigh in relief.
Cullan’s brows draw together in concern. “Is there something wrong?”
I shake my head and smile at him. “I’ve just been reading the news about some murders in Blackport. I think I was really absorbed by it.”
Cullan locks the door behind him. “If that sort of thing upsets you, it’s probably a good idea not to read too much about it. You’re safe in this house. I know all the tricks someone might use to get past my security.”
