17. Clara

17

CLARA

T he shrill ring of my phone pierces the silence. My hands shake as I check the caller ID.

“Clara, we’ve got another one.” James’s voice is tight. “Six swans arranged around the body in a tank of water.”

My stomach lurches. “Text me the address.”

I grab my coat and keys and rush toward the door. The handle turns, and I slam straight into a solid wall of muscle. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs.

“Whoa there.” Silas’s hands steady me, his touch sending electricity through my veins. Those glacier-blue eyes seize mine, a hint of darkness swimming in their depths. “Where are you running off to at this hour?”

The bruises from last night throb beneath my clothes. I struggle to form words, caught between the crime scene and his magnetic pull.

“I-I have to go. Work emergency.” My phone buzzes with James’s text.

Silas’s fingers trail down my arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “At ten at night? Must be important.”

“It is.” I try to step around him, but he shifts, blocking my path.

“Let me drive you.” His voice drops lower, a command rather than an offer. “It’s not safe out there, especially with a killer on the loose.”

My heart pounds against my ribs.

“I can manage?—”

“I insist.” His hand slides to the small of my back, guiding me toward his car. “We wouldn’t want anything happening to Evergreen’s finest forensic psychologist, would we?”

The way he says it makes my skin crawl and burn with desire. I know I should decline, but my body betrays me, and I lean into his touch as we walk to his car.

The leather seat cradles me as I slide into Silas’s Audi. The interior smells of expensive cologne, a scent that brings back flashes of last night and makes my thighs clench.

His hand lands on my leg, fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to make me gasp. Heat pools between my legs in spite of the shock of pain.

“I was hoping for a repeat performance of last night.” His voice drops to that commanding tone that makes my core throb. “The way you begged for me, the marks I left...” His grip tightens.

My breath catches. Part of me wants to give in, to let him take control again. But a nagging voice in my head won’t be silenced.

“So that’s it then?” I manage to keep my voice steady despite his wandering fingers. “You’ve given up on dating me and just want sex now?”

His hand stills on my thigh but doesn’t release its grip. I force myself to meet his gaze, fighting the urge to squirm under the intensity I find there.

“Clara.” The way he says my name sends shivers down my spine. “If I only wanted sex, I wouldn’t have bothered with dinner at Le Blanc. I wouldn’t have spent weeks learning everything about you.”

His words make my stomach flip. Weeks? We only met days ago at the coffee shop.

His thumb traces circles on my inner thigh, each swipe sending sparks of electricity through my body. “I want all of you. Every. Single. Part.” His fingers press into the bruises he left last night, making me whimper. “Including the darkness you try so hard to hide.”

My breath catches in my throat. “What do you mean “weeks”? We just met at the cafe.”

His laugh sends chills down my spine. “Oh, Clara, is that what you think?” His fingers trace up my thigh. “I’ve known you much longer than that. The way you touch yourself late at night while watching those masked men on TikTok. How your breath catches when you read about serial killers.”

My heart pounds against my ribs. “You’ve been watching me?”

“Through your webcam.” His hand slides higher. “The way you arch your back when you’re close. How you bite your lip to keep quiet.”

Heat floods my face, but not from embarrassment. My core throbs with need.

“You should be terrified right now.” His voice drops lower. “But you’re not, are you? Your pupils are dilated. Your breathing’s shallow. You’re wet, aren’t you?”

I squeeze my thighs together, trying to hide my body’s reaction. “I?—”

“Don’t lie.” His fingers dig into my flesh. “You like knowing I’ve been watching. That I know your darkest desires. The ones you’re too afraid to admit out loud.”

A whimper escapes my lips. He’s right. The thought of him watching me, learning my secrets, should horrify me. Instead, it makes my skin tingle with electricity.

“Look me in the eyes and deny it,” his fingers explore my betraying flesh. “Tell me you haven’t dreamed of dancing with the devils you’ve studied so long.”

I can’t form words. Can’t deny the truth in what he’s saying. My hips rock against his hand of their own accord.

“That’s what I thought.” His smile is predatory. “You’ve been waiting for someone to see through your mask. To understand the real you.”

The tip of Silas’s finger teases me, sending sparks of pleasure through my body. I shift in my seat, feeling the constraint of my skirt as I try to move against his touch.

“You like that, don’t you?” His deep voice fills the car, sending a shiver down my spine. “You’re so fucking responsive, Clara. Every touch, every sensation—you feel it so deeply.”

My breath catches as his finger increases its pace. The Audi purrs along the road, but I barely notice our surroundings. It’s as if the world has faded away, leaving only Silas and me in this moment of raw desire.

“You’re so wet for me.” His finger slips inside, stroking in rhythm with the beat of my heart. “God, you’re perfect. So beautiful in your need.”

The pleasure builds inside me like a coil tightening. My head falls back against the headrest as I surrender to the sensations he’s invoking. The rhythmic motion of his finger drives me higher, pushing me closer to the edge.

“That’s it, Clara. Let go.” His voice commands me, pulling me further into the abyss of my own desire. “Surrender to me. Let your climax shatter those walls you've built. Every barrier, every defense you hide behind—I'll demolish them all. Even your pleasure belongs to me now.”

I moan, unable to form words, as the coil inside me snaps. The pleasure explodes through my body, and I shudder with the force of my release. My hand flies to the dashboard, my fingers digging into the plastic as I ride out the waves of my orgasm.

Silas’s low growl fills the car as he strokes me through the aftershocks. I feel exposed and wanton, my body still trembling with the intensity of my climax. I can’t remember the last time I came so hard, so fast.

The car comes to a stop, but Silas doesn’t remove his hand from inside my skirt. I glance around, realizing we’re parked outside the address I gave him.

“I—I need to go.” My voice is hoarse and breathless. I try to smooth my clothes, my cheeks aflame with embarrassment.

I fumble with my seatbelt, my fingers still shaking from my release. “You don’t have to wait. This could take hours.”

“I’ll be right here.” Silas’s hand catches my wrist as I reach for the door handle. His thumb traces over my pulse point. “Hours, days, months – you’re worth waiting for.”

My breath catches at the intensity in his blue eyes. The sheer possession in his grip sends heat pooling between my legs again despite my recent climax.

“I have work to do.” The words come out breathy, unconvincing.

“Then do it.” His fingers slide up my arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Knowing I’m here. Watching. Waiting.”

Red and blue lights flash across his face, reminding me why I’m here. Six dead swans. Another victim. I need to focus.

“Silas, I?—”

“Go.” He releases my wrist, but his eyes pin me in place. “Show me how brilliant you are.”

I grab my bag and step out into the cold night air. My legs wobble as I walk toward the crime scene, feeling his gaze burning into my back. The knowledge that he’s watching, that he’ll be here when I finish, makes it hard to concentrate.

James waves me over to the scene. I force myself to take deep breaths, to push thoughts of Silas from my mind. But his words echo in my head: “You’re worth waiting for.”

I’ve never felt so seen. So understood. So wanted. It terrifies and thrills me in equal measure.

Focus, Clara. There’s a killer to catch.

Ducking under the crime scene tape, I try to ignore how deeply Silas has already burrowed under my skin. He's like those masked figures I obsess over on TikTok, but real and tangible—and admitted stalker or not, I can't seem to stay away. What does that say about me?