Page 49 of Burn For Me

Grabbing the steering wheel, I squeezed, trying to hold back the violent sexual reaction that was coursing through my body.

“Aww,” I groaned as my cock kicked inside my jeans. Frantic and unable to control the urge any longer, my hand shook as I unzipped the jeans and released my throbbing cock. I sighed as my still gloved hand with the smattering of blood on it gripped my hard length and stroked.

“Fuck,” I groaned out.

Soft moans tumbled from my mouth as I closed in on the release I was after. I felt like I was standing on the edge of the cliff, sliding into something otherworldly. The rapture with each stroke was intense, and I had to grab the extra T-shirt on the seat to catch the explosion that was about to erupt from the tip of my cock. I slammed my head back into the headrest, my body flexing with the force of the climax, which felt as powerful as any C4.

“Ahhhhh!”

The scream was a mixed bag of pleasure and pain each time my hand slid from base to tip as my orgasm pounded through me. As the pulses ebbed, the emotional aftermath flowed through my body like a spiritual enlightening. It was as if I’d finally found what I’d been after for longer than I could remember.

Every fire, every lick of flame had been building me toward this moment, this awakening as the pleasure finally quenched what I’d been searching for and could never quite achieve. Even sweet Adalyn’s arms couldn’t compare to this moment. The guilt only added to the strange mix of emotions that were gripping me.

I wanted to do it again.

I could just see the glowing through the trees, but that was too dangerous. I needed to be smart. Quickly cleaning up, I pulled the truck out onto the road with a smile gracing my lips as my cock promised more pleasure when I got home.

The darkness had nothing on me.

Silence is deadly for someone like me—deadly for my mind and most certainly deadly for others. Click. The lighter flared to life, and I stared at the tiny flame that wavered with the gentle breeze of the fan. The woosh of the fan blades spinning was the only other sound in the room as I stared at the peeling wallpaper.

The soft scent of the mold that I hadn’t been able to get rid of fully was strong from the rain steadily assaulting the roof. My eyes flicked to the ceiling to watch another drop fall into the bucket waiting below with that signature ping sound. The dripping added to my little musical choir, compliments of the fan and lighter.

Whoosh, whoosh, rattle, click, ping.

An image of the asylum flashed through my mind and then was replaced with Jim as he and his girlfriend wailed. Seeing the apartment building where Dave met his end had me sucking in a breath before it was replaced with the men hanging from the football goal posts and that little bitch with her fancy car. But the one that kept my dick twitching was Jason’s sister’s beach cottage.

I wondered if she wept more for her brother or her cottage? I’d have bawled like a baby over the cottage and not shed a tear for the prick that got his just deserts inside. I had one more on my list. One more soul whose blood the demons in my mind screamed for, and then I hoped to be at peace. I hoped that Adalyn would finally be able to rest.

Avenge me. The words played on a constant loop in my mind like a broken record—Adalyn’s sweet voice whispering to me from beyond and helping to guide my hand. Avenge me. The voice echoed again, and goosebumps rose across my skin, making me gasp as my eyes closed. Avenge me.

“I will, Adalyn, I will, but not tonight.” My eyes looked to the darkness outside as the rain continued hitting the window. “I need it to stop raining first.”

I wanted the good doctor’s death to be special. Flicking on the little lighter again, I held up the cutout of the latest newspaper headline and grinned. I knew that the cops knew it wasn’t a propane tank issue, but that’s what the headline said. There was something so satisfying about seeing my work in print—to know that even if I was ever caught again, what I’d done would go down in history and stand the test of time as epic.

Digging around in my pocket, I pulled out my phone and swiped to my newest obsession. Dr. Wallace was looking a lot more stressed these days. His normally perfectly styled hair was a mess, his normally clean-shaven face definitely hadn’t been touched by a razor in a number of days, and his clothes were stained with god only knew what.

“That’s right, Doctor, feel the pressure of what it’s like to live under someone’s thumb. Have you reached that pressure cooker moment yet where you’re just ready to snap? Ready to explode on the next person that walks through your door? I want you to feel what it’s like not to know what the next day will bring and if it will be the last time you see the sun. That was every day for me for nine years.” I leaned forward and stared at the image of the man pacing his living room. “You wouldn’t last nine years—you’re barely keeping it together, and it’s only been a day since Jason’s unexpected demise.”

Dr. Wallace began talking to someone I couldn’t see, but as his wife and daughter came into view, both of them pulling a suitcase, I started laughing. She was leaving his sorry ass. I laughed even harder, stomping my feet on the ground as I clutched the phone a little tighter. His wife had just earned herself a free pass in my mind for walking away from that man.

“No, no, please don’t go. I’ll make this right. He’ll never hurt you,” I mocked in the doctor’s voice. “I’m begging you, please, oh pretty please, with cherries on top.”

“I can’t stay here anymore. Whatever mess you made, you lay in it,” I said, pretending to be his wife, and giggled again far louder than I should. It wasn’t really that amusing, but I was getting a front-row seat to the doctor’s life crumbling around him, and that made me happy. Very, very happy.

As a quiet knock sounded through the house, I whipped my head toward the door. I hadn’t seen or heard a car pull in. Shutting off the phone, I set it down to fill my hand with a knife instead, rotating the handle around as I contemplated who it could be.

Using the knife, I peeled away a corner of the material covering the side window. The light was so bright I groaned and stumbled back, covering my eyes.

“Derek, I saw you moving in there. Come on, open up.”

I recognized that voice, but it took a moment for it to register that it was Dora. I opened the door a foot, having to cover my eyes with my arm as the bright sun blinded me.

“Every time I see you, you look worse. Have you showered or eaten anything? And what the hell happened to your face? Open the door, boy, right this minute.” Dora gave the door a little shove that had about as much effect as a bird hitting a window, but I moved back and let her in any way.

Striding up to me, Dora grabbed me by the chin and moved my head from side to side as she inspected me.

“Come on, come sit down,” Dora demanded. I let the little gray-haired woman lead me to one of the chairs in the kitchen and sat when she pointed to a chair. “What in tarnation is going on in here?”