𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝐾𝑛𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓

Travis Crashaws pov (murderer #1)

The moment I jolted awake, a relentless pounding seized my temples, each throb echoing like a jackhammer in my skull. I groaned softly as reality came crashing back, the brightness of the room stabbing at my eyes like a blinding spotlight. My stomach twisted and churned ominously, urging me to sit up quickly. I rubbed my eyes furiously, desperately trying to shake off the remnants of a drunken haze as fragments of last night flooded my memory—piecing together a chaotic puzzle of events that felt equally exhilarating and horrifying.

My gaze swept across the dimly lit room, hunting for her. There, nestled beside me, was Cara, her face serene against the backdrop of tangled sheets. A rush of confusion washed over me. What the hell had happened?

I glanced down at her hands, free from any restraints. Had I really undone them last night? And she... actually stayed? The implications twisted in my gut. My mind raced back, trying to retrace the steps of that chaotic evening.

Dinner… the clinking of glasses… shots of tequila burning down my throat… the intoxicating haze that settled over us… I pictured her hands enveloping mine, the warmth and allure of her touch igniting something deep within me. I blinked in disbelief as the reality of what we had done settled like a stone in my chest. The blanket draped over us bore dark stains, stark and unmistakable—a reminder of the pain I hadn’t anticipated causing her. Guilt twisted cruelly in my stomach; why the hell had I let her drink?

Cautiously, so as not to wake her, I slid the sheets from underneath her. She stirred but remained blissfully asleep, and I felt a twinge of gratitude. I needed clarity, just a moment to gather my scattered thoughts. But everywhere I turned, I was bombarded by echoes of last night—her moans, her breath hitching, the way her fingers danced over my skin, how inviting and warm she felt encircling my fingers.

I cursed under my breath. Maybe all I needed was a shower to clear this fog from my mind.

I rummaged through the closet, pulling together some clothes when a chilling thought struck me. She might wake and try to escape. Panic coursed through me, propelling me to retrieve the cuffs from the previous night. With a carefulness that felt both foreign and instinctual, I secured her to the headboard, praying she remained in deep slumber. Thank God she was a heavy sleeper.

With my heart pounding, I grabbed my clothes and dashed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I stripped off my shirt and jeans, shedding the remnants of the night, before turning the water to ice-cold. When I stepped inside, the shock of the chill took my breath away, but I welcomed the jolt. I needed this—needed the freezing spray to bring me back to reality.

Leaning against the cool tiles, I breathed heavily, trying to calm the chaos swirling in my mind. What had happened last night? It had spiraled far beyond what I had planned. I closed my eyes, reliving the moments—the taste of her soft lips against mine, the thrill of exploring her body like a treasure I’d unearthed. My hands instinctively wandered down, seeking release, and I found myself already hard, frustration mixing with desire.

Desperate to expunge her from my system, memories flooded my mind: her warmth enveloping me, her body arching beneath my touch, the intoxicating sound of her moans as I caressed her tenderly. I groaned, biting back the intensity of my longing as my imagination spiraled. I envisioned myself inside her instead of my fingers, that lustful heat echoing in my thoughts.

My hands gripping her thighs, pressing her into me, our bodies moving in an ancient rhythm. I could hear her gasp, a sound so pure and electric, reverberating through me as I filled her, inch by inch. Her warmth wrapped around me, pulling me deeper into a vortex of need. I fought the primal urge to take her, to thrust into her mercilessly, but a flicker of restraint held me back. I wasn’t an outright monster, at least not entirely.

She nipped at my shoulder, teasingly, and as I pulled back, I slipped inside her once more, filling her completely. The warmth radiating from her body throbbed around me, and every instinct screamed for more, for everything she could give me.

But even in the throes of my desire, a nagging thought lingered—why was it so hard to erase her from my mind? She was just a girl I had kidnapped, not someone I was meant to know. Yet, an insistent whisper echoed in the back of my mind: What would be so wrong about wanting to know her? To glimpse the person behind her frightened façade?

With all these thoughts swirling chaotically in my head, I let my eyes fall shut, surrendering to the rhythm of the water streaming down my back—icy and invigorating. This shower was doing nothing to help me. Not that I cared.

What the hell was happening to me?