13. Clara

13

CLARA

M y fingers drum against the case files scattered across my coffee table. No new victims today. The silence unnerves me more than finding another body would. Has he stopped? Vanished like the Songbird killer twenty years ago?

The doorbell pierces through my thoughts. I check my phone—it’s just after nine.

"Who..." My heart skips when I peek through the peephole. Silas stands on my porch, snowflakes catching in his dark hair. A silver gift bag dangles from his fingers.

I open the door, cold air rushing past. "Silas? What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't stay away. Been going crazy thinking about you." He steps closer, his cologne mixing with the crisp winter air. "I know it's late, but I had to see you."

The case files flash through my mind—I shouldn't let him in. But my body betrays me, and I step aside to let him in. His presence fills my living room, making it feel smaller somehow.

"I brought you something." He holds out the bag, his deep voice wavers which seems out of character for his usual controlled demeanor.

My fingers brush his as I take it. "You didn't have to..."

"I wanted to." His voice drops lower. "You've been on my mind. Every minute. Every second."

The raw need in his voice mirrors the ache building inside me. I should focus on the case and finding this killer before he strikes again. Instead, I can only focus on how Silas's shirt stretches across his muscular chest, the way the ink at his cuff has me imagining how much ink adorns his body and how his eyes darken when they meet mine.

"I shouldn't be here," he whispers but takes another step closer. "Tell me to leave."

I can't form the words. Don't want to.

The silver bag hits the counter with a soft thud. My breath catches as Silas closes the distance between us. His hand cups my face, thumb tracing my bottom lip. The touch sends electricity through my body, making my knees weak.

"Clara..." His voice is rough, desperate.

His mouth crashes into mine. The kiss is hungry and demanding. My fingers tangle in his hair as he backs me against the wall. His tongue sweeps past my lips, tasting of mint, while a dangerous aura of darkness teases my senses.

Heat pools low in my belly. I arch into him, wanting more, needing more. His hand slides down my side, gripping my hip. The other braces against the wall beside my head, caging me in.

A moan escapes me as his teeth graze my bottom lip. He growls in response, pressing closer until there's no space left between us. I can feel every hard plane of his body, the evidence of his desire pushing against my stomach.

My mind goes fuzzy, lost in the sensation of his mouth on mine, his hands exploring. The case files, the murders, everything fades away until there's nothing but this moment, nothing but Silas.

I gasp as his lips trail down my neck, his teeth scraping against my pulse point. My head falls back against the wall, giving him better access.

"Tell me what you think about late at night," he murmurs against my skin. "When you're alone in your bed, touching yourself..."

Heat floods my cheeks. How does he know? My midnight sessions scrolling through videos of masked men, my hand between my legs...

"I-I can't..." But his hand slides up my thigh, making me shiver.

"Yes, you can." His voice drops lower, darker. "Tell me your darkest fantasies, Clara. Every dirty thought you've tried to hide."

His thumb brushes over my center through my clothes, and I bite back a moan. "I watch videos... of men in masks."

"What else?" His fingers continue their torturous path.

"I imagine being taken... controlled." The words spill out before I can halt them. "Someone dangerous wanting me, choosing me."

Silas's grip tightens on my hip. "Keep going."

"My mind is so fucked up." I pull back from his kiss, shame, and desire warring inside me. "It's why I became a forensic psychologist. To understand..."

His fingers trace my jawline. "Tell me."

"I have these... impulses." My voice comes out barely above a whisper. "Dark ones. When I'm alone at night, I fantasize about being forced to submit." Heat floods my face, but his intense gaze draws the words out. "By someone dangerous. Someone who could hurt me but chooses to possess me instead."

Silas's thumb brushes across my bottom lip. "A killer?"

My breath catches. I shouldn't admit this, especially not with an active serial killer case, but something about Silas makes me want to confess everything. "Yes. The power they hold shouldn't turn me on, but it does. The thought of being completely at their mercy..."

His grip tightens on my hip. "You want someone to strip away your control? Make you surrender?"

"God, yes." The words tumble out in a rush. "I watch those masked men videos and imagine being taken by someone like that. Someone who sees the darkness within and wants me anyway."

"And that's why you study killers?" His voice drops lower. "To understand your desires?"

I nod, unable to meet his eyes. "I thought if I could understand their psychology, maybe I could understand why I'm so drawn to that kind of danger; why normal relationships feel... empty."

His fingers slide into my hair, tugging my head back to meet his gaze. "There's nothing wrong with wanting the darkness, thriving in it even. Some of us are simply built differently."

My breath catches as Silas reaches into his pocket. The flash of white latex makes my knees weak—a Ghostface mask—the one I've watched countless times on TikTok.

"Is this what you like?" His voice drops an octave. "What do you think about when you touch yourself?"

"How did you..." The words stick in my throat. Heat floods between my legs at the sight of the mask dangling from his fingers.

"I pay attention." His thumb traces my bottom lip. "Want me to put it on?"

A whimper escapes me. My darkest fantasy stands before me, offered up like a gift. The rational part of my brain screams to stop because I barely know him. But my body responds on its own, arching toward him.

"Yes," I gasp. "Please."

His eyes darken with desire as he lifts the mask. The latex catches the dim light from my living room lamp. My heart pounds against my ribs as he slides it over his face, transforming into the figure from my midnight fantasies.

A moan slips past my lips. I can't believe this is happening. Can't believe he somehow knew exactly what I wanted.

"Is this what you imagined?" His voice comes muffled through the mask, sending shivers down my spine.

"Yes," I breathe, unable to tear my eyes away from the ghostly white face. My inhibitions crumble, replaced by raw need. "God, yes."

My breath catches as Silas's demeanor shifts. The playful tension evaporates, replaced by something darker and colder. His fingers dig into my hips, pressing me harder against the wall. Through the mask, his blue eyes turn ice cold.

"Partridge is your safe word," he whispers against my ear, making my skin prickle.

My pulse races, fear and arousal flooding my system. This isn't the charming man from the restaurant anymore. This is someone else entirely; dangerous, methodical, controlled.

His grip tightens, one hand sliding up to wrap around my throat. Not squeezing, just holding. Possessing.

"I'm going to defile you, Clara." His voice comes low and dark through the mask. "Break down every wall you've built. Strip away that perfect facade until there's nothing left but ravenous need."

A whimper escapes my lips. My legs shake, my core clenching at his words. This is everything I've fantasized about—everything I've tried to suppress.

"By the time I'm done with you..." His thumb traces my bottom lip. "You'll never be satisfied with anything less than me again."

The clinical part of my brain tries to analyze this shift in his personality to categorize and understand it. But my body responds without rational thought, arching into his touch despite the scientific part of my brain screaming at me to run.

His fingers flex against my throat. "Are you ready to surrender to the darkness, Clara? To let me show you who you are?"

I'm ready to fall into the abyss. I've dreamed of this for so long, but as reality creeps closer, a sliver of fear pierces my chest. What if I can't handle it? What if?—

Silas reads my hesitation and lets out a groan that vibrates against my body, sending a bolt of desire straight between my legs. He slams me harder against the wall, our chests pressed together. It's the spark that ignites my surrender.

"Get on your knees." His tone turns dark; icey. His hands drop from my throat to my shoulders, fingers digging into me with a commanding force. "Be my good slut, and show me how much you want to be mine.”

A shiver runs through me, but it's not from fear. This is what I've wanted—what I've fantasized about. My hesitation isn't about backing out but about embracing the fantasy fully.

I open my mouth, not to agree but to deny him. "No," I whisper. It's a lie, but I want to play the role of the struggling victim, giving him a challenge.

A dark laugh rumbles from his chest. "Fighting it, huh? Interesting." His grip on my shoulders tightens as if he can sense my simmering desire beneath the surface. "Let's see how much you can take before you break."

I let out a small gasp as he shoves me against the wall, using his body to hold me in place. His hand wraps around my throat again, not to caress this time but to restrain me. I feel his hot breath through the mask as he leans close, brushing my ear.

"You're mine now." His voice penetrates every cell in my body. "And I'll do whatever I want with you."

I struggle against his hold, less intense than I would with a real attacker, but enough to communicate my feigned resistance. My heart pounds in my chest, a heady mix of fear and desire.

His hand leaves my throat only to produce a pair of handcuffs from his jacket pocket. I bite my lip to muffle a moan as he pulls my arms behind my back and snaps the cold metal into place. The handcuffs dig into my wrists, and I pull at them, testing their strength.

"No escaping now." Silas's voice turns darker, more menacing. He pulls me forward, spinning me around and pushing me down. He wrestles me onto my knees. The roughness of his actions sending a wave of desire through me.

I stay on my knees with my hands bound, unable to push up as he steps back, admiring his handiwork. The true danger of my position hits me—so vulnerable and exposed. My heart hammers in my chest as adrenaline spikes through my veins. Being so helpless should terrify me, but instead, it lights a fire inside I've never felt before.

"You like that, don't you?" Silas's voice comes from somewhere behind me. I hear the creak of leather as he sits, the chair groaning under his weight. "The feeling of being trapped. Helpless."

The cold metal of the handcuffs bites into my wrists as I test them, sending a rush of adrenaline through me. Being restrained and helpless makes my pulse race; my skin tingle. I try to shift my position, but it only makes the cuffs dig deeper into my skin.

"Look at you, all tied up and nowhere to go." Silas's voice drips with satisfaction. His feet slide across the floor, stopping in front of me. I feel his presence looming as he stands over me.

My breath catches in my throat, seeing him free his cock from his pants. It's massive, thicker, and longer than I've ever seen. The tip glistens with a drop of pre-cum, and I can't help but imagine how it would taste.

I know I should be afraid, but my body betrays me. I ache to taste him, to feel him stretch me open. It's wrong, but I can't deny my desire.

Silas grips my chin, his touch firm but not cruel. He guides his cock to my lips, pressing the tip against them. I hesitate, still caught between my fantasy and the reality of what is about to happen.

"Open, pet." His voice turns demanding. "Unless you want me to find something to keep your pretty little mouth stretched wide."

My hesitation vanishes, replaced by a surge of defiance. I turn my head, refusing to yield. His threat sparks something in me, reminding me why I'm here. This isn't a regular hookup; it's about embracing my darkest desires.

"Fine." His tone hardens as he pulls something out of his pocket—an open mouth gag. “If that's how you want to play, we'll do things the hard way. Safe word is replaced by clicking your fingers.”

The cold metal of the gag invades my mouth, spreading my lips wide. I try to mumble my objections, but the words emerge as garbled noise. The taste of metal invades my senses as the gag tightens, securing my mouth in an obscenely stretched “O”. My cheeks burn with humiliation, but my core clenches in approval.

His dark laugh ripples through me like ice water. "Such a pretty sight open wide and waiting for my claim."

I try to reply, but the gag renders my words unintelligible.

"I've been waiting for this." His voice turns rough with anticipation. “The first time I saw you, I knew you were the one."

The one? My heart stutters, but before I can process his words, he grips my hair, holding me in place.

His hips begin to move, and his cock slides slowly into my mouth. The salty taste of him fills my senses as he breaches my lips. I close my eyes, focusing on the sensation of having him take what he wants. My body relaxes, accepting his invasion.

"That's it, sweetheart." His praise sends a thrill through me. "Take it all."

I relax my throat and let him slide deeper, moaning in satisfaction as he reaches the back. The gag keeps my mouth open wide, allowing him to thrust freely. He uses my mouth for his pleasure, grunting as he establishes a rhythm.

"Fuck, your mouth feels so good." His cock twitches against my tongue, warning of his impending release. "You were made to serve me."

Serve him? My mind tries to rebel against the idea; again my body betrays me, moaning around his length. At this moment, giving in to my basest urges, there's a part of me that agrees. A part that wants to give him everything he demands and more.

His pace quickens, his hips slamming forward as he loses control. His fingers dig into my scalp, guiding me. I gag as he nudges the back of my throat, but he doesn't relent, using me to reach his peak.

"Fuck, yes." His breath comes in short pants. "Take my cum, Clara. Every last drop."

The command sends a shockwave of desire through me. My body prepares for his release, tensing as if readying for battle. I want his cum, want to feel him paint my throat with it.

His grunts grow louder as his strokes become more erratic. I know he's close, and my body responds as if it were my climax approaching. My core clenches, and I ache for release, even as his thrusts become rougher, more primal.

"Yes, take it." He pulls my hair harder. "Swallow it all, you little slut."

The rough words unleash something inside me. I moan deeply around him, my body on fire with need.

With a loud groan, he tenses, his cock throbbing between my lips. The first jet of his release hits the back of my throat, triggering my own orgasm. I come hard, my body convulsing uncontrollably.

He continues to unload, filling my mouth with his essence. I swallow obediently, savoring his taste. He rides out his release, hips still moving gently as he savors the aftershocks.

His voice breaks through the haze of my orgasm, pulling me back to reality. "You're so fucking dirty, coming for me with my dick down your throat. You didn’t even need to be touched.”

Embarrassment floods my cheeks at the realization of how exposed I am, vulnerable and restrained, completely at his mercy. It should shame me, instead it fuels the fire still burning inside.

Pulling out of my mouth, he steps back, his gaze intense. "Did you think this was just a date? That I'm just some rich guy looking for a hookup?"

I try to respond, to ask him what he means, but the words garble behind the gag. My mind struggles to process what's happening, my heart hammering in my chest.

"Oh, I think you know what this is." His eyes darken, boring into mine. "You knew from the moment we collided at that coffee shop in the mall."

I did know. From the very start, there was something about him that spoke to my deepest desires. I just never imagined it would go this far, that I'd find myself bound, gagged, used for his pleasure.

"I've been watching you, Clara." His tone turns confessional. "I know your secrets. Those late nights alone, the videos you watch. I know what you truly crave."

My chest tightens at his words, the implications sinking in. How much does he know?

Silas takes a step forward, his eyes never leaving mine. "I'm not going to apologize for it. You wanted to be seen, wanted someone to understand you.”

My heart should be racing with fear at his confession, but it isn’t, heat pools between my legs. His words echo in my mind; he's been watching me and knows my darkest fantasies. My years of training force me to catalog every warning sign, every red flag, but my body arches into his touch anyway.

"Those nights when you thought you were alone?" His fingers trace my jaw. "I saw everything. The way you touched yourself watching those masked men. How you begged for someone to take control."

A whimper and a load of saliva escapes around the gag. My thighs clench together, seeking friction. The handcuffs bite into my wrists as I shift, but the pain only heightens my arousal.

"You should be terrified right now." His thumb wipes a drop of his cum from my lip. "But look at you—trembling with need instead of fear."

He's right. Before I ended up gagged, bound and on my knees I should have grabbed my phone, called James, and had this man arrested. Instead, I'm on my knees, soaked through my panties, craving more of whatever his darkness promises.

"I've imagined this moment so many times." His voice drops lower. "Watching you fight against your nature, pretending to be normal. But we both know better, don't we, Clara?"

I nod, unable to deny it anymore. The shame of being exposed and having my obsessions laid bare floods me with an intoxicating relief. Someone finally sees me.

"Such a good girl," he praises, “ready to embrace what you are."

The rational voice in my head grows fainter with each word. I know I'm falling into something dangerous, something I might never be able to escape. But as Silas's hands slide into my hair, guiding my head back to look up at him, I realize I don't want to escape.

I want to drown in our shared depravity.