SO COLD (18+) currently editing

Chapter 34

"Spot's a nicer name."

"Where are his fucking spots? Fat bastard is all brown except for around his eyes."

"Don't be so mean," I tugged Fat from his arms and cradled him. "He's like a baby. I want to keep him."

"You can't. Set him down. I'm going to feed them and you're going upstairs to have a shower and then we're going to have a talk." Cole whistled and slapped his leg and the dogs followed him. "Straight upstairs. Third door on your right."

I started up the steps and stopped. "Why do you have a big house? You live alone."

"Because I make my own money. I do what I like with it."

"Alright."

The bathroom walls were painted aqua green and white. Clean towels hung off the rails. A large mirror was in front of the sink. The toilet seat was down. The shower was spacious. Sliding glass doors. Digital shower. The controller was on the wall. I wouldn't know how to set the temperature or how to change the strength of the soak. Half empty bottles of shampoos and conditioners lined the tray.

My damp clothes were discarded and thrown in a basket. It was far too quiet and I didn't like it. My reflection was furiously itching at her arm. The skin was red. Specks of blood appeared. It began to hurt. I threw my arm under the cold tap of the sink. The relief was ephemeral.

She was acting bizarre; violently shaking her head as if there were stinging wasps airborne, shooting in her ear, vibrating and humming loudly. She couldn't throw them off. The noise was deafening. She clutched the side of her head and squeezed her eyes shut.

She vanished from sight.

A snake mask materialised in the darkness. It was a taunt. An inescapable souvenir from the past. This evening. My gaze fell to my arm and travelled upwards to the raised gun. A gunshot went off. An ear-splitting sound.

I jolted, my eyes flew open. My hands remained empty. Heavy breaths escaped me and slowly grew quieter. I clutched my stomach and tried not to throw up again. I felt like death.

Murder was a heinous act. Something you read about in a newspaper article and condemn. The psychology of a killer is picked apart by grubby fingers and mouths that never close. Why did they do it? Who were they before this? They're a monster. Words and phrases are thrown about. Labels are stuck on people. Evil. Freak. Inhumane. Anything to separate murderers from the rest of the happy and sane population. A line is drawn. Reports are written. 'Normal' people don't commit murder. You're safe. Dehumanise and degrade those who carry out such acts to comfort the people who hear of homicide. The harmless families who go to work, go to school and don't put a pillow over the mouth of a relative or snap the neck of a wife. Pat the backs of those who remember to feed the new born infant, uplift the man who feeds the homeless and support the brother who is training to become a cop.

Tell them over and over again: we're normal. We could never murder someone. It's a fictionalised bed time story. A lie. Murder is unprejudiced. Every human is capable of murder. It merely depends on the situation.

Cole knocked on the bathroom door and walked in soon after. "Got you clothes."

"Thanks."

"You alright?" he set the clothes down and faced me.

"Could you set the shower? I don't know how to use it."

He walked past me and I watched him as he took the controller from the stand and switched the shower on. He played with the buttons for a quick moment and then looked up. "You're good to go." I stuck my hand in. The spray was gentle and warm.

"Wait." I said, and stood in front of him. I swallowed and my eyes fell to his mouth. His hand was placed on my hip. 

"Is this a good idea?"

"To hell with it," I disregarded his concern and kissed him. It felt like forever since we last touched and I craved it more than anything. In that moment, I realised how much I needed him. I wanted to be close to him, to touch him, taste him, have his hands caress my body.

He kissed me back with a fervour I matched. My head felt fuzzy. My stomach was full of butterflies. Sparks erupted along my skin wherever his hands grazed across. My back met the cool tiles. He kissed along the curve of my neck, along my collarbone, and then to my breast. His teeth tugged slightly painfully at my nipple.

I was wet.

His hips pushed into mine, and I felt his hardening arousal against his jeans. I unbuckled his belt and tug his jeans and boxers down. I palmed the length of his erection. His breathing sped up and he groaned into the crook of my neck. "Fuck. Turn around."

"Wait." I wrapped my legs around his waist and ordered. "Shower."

He didn't argue and he held me up, one hand under my ass, the other pushing open the shower doors. Water spattered down on us. He steadied himself and grunted. "Satisfied?"

He reached down and grabbed his member and pushed himself inside me. I moaned elatedly and he grabbed my jaw, his eyes intense, lustful, demanding. "Look at me."

He kissed me, dominating every inch of my body. He took satisfaction from knowing he could control me the way he did and I couldn't deny the gratification from seeing the passionate look on his face whenever he was between my legs.

"Shit. Condom–?"

"I'll pay for your abortion," he throatily growled and thrusted himself deeper. "And I'll even help you shower after."

"Dick," laughter escaped me and almost immediately died.

His hands tightened, his stare was fiery and obsessive and I didn't know if I liked it. We've fucked before but this was different. It felt controlling. Both of us greedy and brutal in our claims for each other and yet at the same time loving. Something had changed.

My eyes rolled up, and I juddered in pleasure and he stiffened, having held himself back long enough until I came, and then he ejaculated.

His hand curled around my throat. He was still buried inside of me and a sadistic grin made its way on his face. His fingers dug into my skin harshly and his gaze was alight with merriment. "I want you to stay with me."

"What?"

"Stay with me."

It wasn't a request.

***