20. SIREN SONG

20

SIREN SONG

RYDEN

H er lips set my heart on fire. I wanted her mouth on my body and my cock, which was now standing at attention, begging for the warmth of her tongue.

She was every one of my darkest, dirtiest fantasies, but I knew I shouldn’t let this woman taunt me into doing things I’d probably regret later.

“I know,” she said, licking her lips… and oh… I knew no rum could come close to the taste of her lips. I already knew she’d be the kind of addiction I couldn’t run away from if I took just a sip.

“You want to get me drunk?” Teasing, I licked the rim of the mug.

She laughed, but her eyes… the look in them. Oh, there was no joke in them. Bright as gold, those eyes were full of dark, dangerous songs, pulling me in, calling to my every sense. I found myself dragged in by her storms, by the whisper of shadows in her skin, by her fragility and strength.

Something about Yara West was like a siren’s call, and my body sang in answer.

My cock responded eagerly to the come hither look in her eyes. I wanted to grab her hand and push it against the evidence of my desire. Hard and throbbing. Pain. So much pain. She’d be the only one who could make it stop.

It’d feel good to give in. Break myself open for her, but…

She leaned closer, her silky red hair cascading gently down her cheek, and the light hit her skin in such a way she glowed. Every part of me wanted to close the distance between us and take her, to possess her completely. FUCK.

“You told me you want to talk about The Strangler?” I said, looking away from her mesmerizing body.

She blinked, a look of utter surprise crossing her features. Her eyes narrowed as she studied my face for a long minute, her brows knitted together before she nodded.

“Alright, then,” she said. “I’ve read all your articles but tell me more about that bastard.”

“Why are you curious about The Strangler?” I asked. I knew people had a morbid addiction to serial killers, but what was her reason?

“He’s still out there when he deserves to rot in prison.”

“Is that the only reason?” I asked as she poured another glass of rum-infused hot chocolate. I was so surprised by the delicious kick of the rum when I first took a sip of it. She filled my glass, too, before I even asked. “There were many killers who are still out there.”

“Yes. The Strangler…” she trailed off. “The Abstract Killer.”

My body went rigid before I let myself relax. Of course, she didn’t know anything about The Abstract Killer— me . If she had, she wouldn’t have invited me into her home. She wouldn’t have tried to seduce me.

I wanted to ask whether she had ever worked on any of my creations, to ask her what she thought of his art.

“They’re meticulous, careful, and controlled. There wasn’t a hint of evidence, but it’s The Strangler I want to know more about.”

“What do you want to know, then?”

Her eyes narrowed, a storm brewing within as her fingers clenched tightly around the fabric of her dress.

“The letters. Do you think they’re more important to the unsub than the women he chooses?” she finally said, taking in a deep breath.

I didn’t fail to notice her use of the cop term.

“Maybe. If we can find the woman… he’s writing the letters to, we might get a break,” I said. I had tried to find that bastard for a while, but because he killed all over the country, it was hard to chase him.

“The Strangler killed once or twice every year, but he didn’t kill in a particular month or a day. It was all random. Why? Most serial killers choose something personal to them, something significant, but not The Strangler. His victim profiles are all over the place, the places he killed, once again, are not always the same. I think it’s all deliberate,” she said with a thoughtful look in her eyes.

“These women were all… without a family, without anyone. That’s the only thing they have in common. He was targeting women who were easy to nab, women nobody would miss.”

“Wrong. One of The Strangler’s victims had a sister,” Yara said, her lips pursed together, her eyes dark.

“Yes. I remember that one. What was her name? Ah, Katelyn Ricci. No parents but she had a sister. The cops found the body a day later on the Michigan highway, decorated with a bow and a love letter. She was his fifth kill. The one that made him popular.”

Except for Katelyn, every other woman that was chosen had no other family members. The rest of his victims were all single, lonely women.

Yara nodded. “You have a good memory.”

“I never forget the stories I write.”

“I’m the same. I can’t forget the dead bodies I autopsy,” she said.

“You asked me why I was so interested in Victor Bane. Why are you so interested in The Strangler, Yara?”

“I helped in the autopsy of one of the women he killed.”

“Was it Katelyn?”

She shook her head with a sigh. “No. This one was The Strangler’s seventh kill. I saw how peaceful the girl looked in her death. The killing was almost reverent. Usually, men are violent, aggressive creatures. Male assailants who hurt women tend to steer more toward punishment through sex and, if they are incapable, through violence. But none of his victims were assaulted. I couldn’t stop wondering about that. I still can’t,” she said, biting her lips.

Her captivating eyes were solemn as she tugged at the neck of her dress as if it were suffocating her.

“Was it so hard for you to look at the woman? To know that someone had…”

She took in a sharp breath and nodded. Her hand trembled. I leaned toward her and touched the back of her hand, hoping the small touch could be a comfort. She looked at me with a faint smile, and my heart felt like it would jump out of my throat and fall to her feet.

Oh. Fuuuuuuck.

“I had just joined as Doctor Mikael’s assistant. I was so new to all of that. I still remember how peaceful she looked, how truly dead but also… content. How he had become a god through her.”

“And you’ll never forget it, but The Strangler is… he’s dangerous, and you can’t—”

“It’s not like I’m going to go looking for him.” She smiled a little, but something was missing. “I just want to know him. To jump into his head and learn his secrets.”

“I know how it feels, the need to find the right piece of the puzzle. Why do you think I became an investigative reporter?” I said and then paused. This was becoming more than just casual chatter. This was going into territories I could not explore with her.

“So… you’re nosy,” she said with a smile as she pressed my hand between both her palms.

She looked at me, her eyes slowly shifting from distress to desire. I pulled my hand away. She quirked her brows and flashed me a smile that spoke of her sinister intentions.

“I’m curious.”

She stood up, unsteadily, and turned to look at me, her eyes sizzling, suggestive. My body reacted to that look in her eyes so vehemently that I wanted to run to her or away from her.

“Aren’t you curious to know what it is between us?”

I stilled. This woman was… unexpectedly straightforward, and I wasn’t ready for such staggering honesty. Not now. My life was full of lies.

“What?” I kept my voice steady, but there was a volcano bursting within me.

“You know… I want you, don’t you?” she said, her eyes dark with desire. “I don’t want to play games. Not this time. I want your body on mine, your cock inside my aching pussy.”

I almost choked on my drink, which was more rum than chocolate. She laughed, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “I think I’m more drunk than I thought,” she admitted. “But I’m not that drunk. I want you. I thought about you when I was touching myself.”

Her confession made my head spin, my heart stumble. My breathing was ragged when my eyes went to her breasts pressed up against the fabric. So full. Her nipples were hard, begging for my attention.

What was a man to do now?

The twisted, broken part of me begged to stomp on the small goodness that was left in me and take her, take her the way she wanted me to.

Desire was a tempest, and every bone in my body begged to have my mouth on her nipples. I wanted to bite, wanted to take everything. My stomach clenched as I stared at her flushed face.

Greed clashed with common sense. Rational thoughts were consumed by lust.

“You look drunk. I should leave.” It was very hard to keep resisting her when she was asking for exactly what I wanted.

Fuck. My cock was straining against my boxers, pressing against the front of my pants, begging to be freed, begging to find the inside of her mouth. Cursing silently, I adjusted myself.

She moved closer until all of her soft body was pressed against mine. It took everything in me to not pull her to my lap and let her feel how undeniably aroused I was for her. She looked at me with eyes that made my mind empty.

“I want to touch. Can I touch you?” she asked.

“Yes.” The word came out before I could consciously stop myself.

“Are you scared? I won’t… bite you. I mean, I will if you beg me to,” she whispered, her breath hot on my skin.

I jerked back when she bravely placed her hand on my thigh. Her fingers dug into my flesh, and my breath hitched. An involuntary groan left me when her fingers traced the bulge in my pants with decisive, greedy strokes.

She licked her lips, letting out a soft moan, her finger tracing a burning arc up and down my cock. Even through the layers of clothes, I felt her touch.

“Yara, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I growled out. My fingers pressed against hers, pulling them hastily away from my cock, even when every inch of me begged for more. More.

Her eyes lifted to mine, fierce, burning with lust.

“You know what I’m doing. You want me just as bad. So why are you running now, Ryden?” she whispered, tugging her hand free from my hold—I readily let go—and pressing her palm back against my straining cock, her eyes challenging me.

I moaned, my voice dark and desperate. Her fingers explored me, and I was already so close to coming, like a fucking teenager.

This woman was madness. Everything about her was made to make me go insane.

“Fuck, Yara, you should stop before you regret… this. We can’t do this,” I said as I pressed my finger against her hand. I didn’t know whether I was stopping her or pressing her hand further into my cock. “I can’t do this.” My voice came out hoarse and greedy… and reluctant.

“Why would I regret it? I want to touch you and I know you’re enjoying it,” she said in a whisper that was like a kiss of death. She leaned closer to me and pressed her lips against my shoulder, inhaling deeper. “You smell delicious. You smell just as I have imagined. Dangerous and delightful.”

I shook my head with a low groan, and she laughed breathily. The sound trickling down my spine was as erotic as her touch.

“It looks like your cock is enjoying me too much. Whenever my finger touches it, it jumps in response,” she said, her eyes battling against mine to deny her truths. She bit her beautiful lips, and I wanted this woman like I had never wanted anything in my thirty years.

As if to prove her point, she dragged her red-painted nail up my cock, and the greedy thing became harder as if it wasn’t already hard before.

“Touch me, Ryden,” she begged, ordered, and I wanted to give her whatever she wanted. My fingers went to her satin skin and everything in me went quiet. I trailed my finger down her throat, and she arched into me, seeking my touch, searching for more. Her eyes were demanding as she met mine. “More, Ryden. Give me more.” I loved how greedy she sounded.

Her lips parted as her head fell back, hitting the couch.

“Oh, oh…” she moaned when I finally ran my finger down her breast, and I knew then.

I had just written my fucking death sentence, and there was no way out of it.