Happy Happy Wednesday!

I hope everyone is happy and live isn't being too cruel for them. Hope all your families are well and work isn't being a bitch. Just wanted to say that ;)

We continue to gather readers and those who enjoy reading this. Almost up to 200 followers, that's epic in my eyes. So thanks to everyone still with me, and to those just joining us. You're all more than welcome.

Thanks to those guests who left a review. Your words always make me smile.

As always, thanks to cjgwilliams and her fantastic skills at deciphering my sometimes crazy writing, especially those sections written in the early hours of the morning when insomnia strikes. You're awesome, my friend.

And so on to the next chapter...

Chapter 38

It was a few days later and the ping of the elevator announced the floor she requested; the doors opened to reveal a vast room with desks scattered seemingly haphazardly, but Tris was sure there was some logic to their placement. A wall of offices lined with windows and doors were intermittently spaced to one side of the room, obviously housing the higher ranking employees, and Tris strolled from the elevator with ease, her eyes roaming the area for the person she was looking for.

The Desk Sergeant in the precinct's foyer had directed her to this floor and she was assured Four would be here somewhere. She couldn't see him, but she could feel him. He was somewhere near. She did recognize the man over the far side of the room by a bank of sun drenched windows sitting at his desk and working diligently at his computer. She moved across the space gracefully, smirking slightly at the looks of appreciation she received as she passed the work spaces located closer to the elevator.

"Hey," she said when she finally stood in front of the only man in the room she knew. "Jason, right?"

"Uh huh," he answered, not taking his eyes from the monitor in front of him, a pencil wedged between his teeth. He waited for her to continue, and when she didn't, he lifted his eyes, recognizing her immediately.

"Shit," he said quickly, the pencil dropping before he stood sharply from his chair. "Ms. Prior. What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for the one with the chiseled chin. Is he around?" she asked, tipping her head in the direction of what was obviously Four's desk.

"Yeah, he's just in with the captain," Jason informed her, smiling at her description of his partner.

"Okay, I'll wait," she beamed one of her most dazzling smiles and turned to walk around Four's desk, which was placed at a right angle to his partner's, in front of the bank of windows, looking back into the space. Tris wondered if Four often turned around in his chair to observe the view out the windows, like she tended to do in her own office, instead of always looking at the one presented before him at his desk.

She knew there were several eyes focused on her, no doubt wondering who she was and why she was in the bullpen, but she ignored them as she settled into Four's chair, her brows furrowing slightly at how uncomfortable it was. She could never work like this. Her eyes scanned the furniture in front of her, and she frowned. His desk was a mess, paper everywhere and nothing was in order. She itched to set it straight. It wasn't that she was a neat person in general, on more than one occasion George sorted out her mess of a desk, but Four had no one to do that for him, to make things easier for him. She shook her head, amused by her thoughts, as this was something completely new for her.

Several of the men in the room exchanged glances, bewildered as this unknown woman blatantly made herself at home at Eaton's desk. Obviously, she didn't know how possessive he was about his work space, and when she started to sieve through some of his paperwork, one of them stood and crossed over to Jason to inquire about the mysterious blonde who had just waltzed in and made herself comfortable.

"Who's the babe?" he asked in a low voice, not wanting to draw attention to himself. "And does she realize Eaton will ball her out for interfering with his stuff?"

"The babe is Tris Prior, Dylan, and you'd better to not call her babe in front of Four," Jason grinned, appreciating the surprised look that crossed his coworker's face at the revelation.

"Holy shit!" Dylan exclaimed. "That's his girl." He looked over his shoulder as Tris settled back into the chair, lifting her legs to rest on top of the desk and crossing her ankles on the corner, a file folder in her hands and her slim skirt riding higher on her thighs. "Damn!" He continued as his eyes wandered the length of her perfectly tanned legs.

"Wait," Dylan spun his head back to Jason. "Tris Prior... as in Beatrice Prior?"

Jason nodded and indicated to the girl they were talking about. "Beatrice Prior."

"Lucky dog," Dylan drew out.

Tris smirked at the overheard conversation as she opened the folder she lifted from Four's cluttered desk, her eyes dropping to be greeted immediately with a picture of herself. The print was something she thought she would never see in a file on Four's desk. It was a picture of herself in the aftermath of her parents' brutal murder. She glanced up, making sure that Jason's attention was diverted, before she looked back down at the photograph in her hand.

The camera's lens was dialed in on her face, which surprisingly was the only part of her body not marred with bruises or cut marks. Her eyelids were half closed, but she could make out her hazel eyes, normally so vibrant, looking strange and unfocused.

Her heart beat rapidly as she took in all that the picture showed her while her mind registered all it didn't. While it was obvious the girl in the picture had been tortured, it didn't show the degradation she had experienced. It didn't show the nights she forced herself to stay awake so she wouldn't be caught unaware by her tormentor or the times she was unsuccessful and was awakened by him dragging a knife along the side of her breast or moving her body into a position that she tried her best to forget.

The photograph failed to express the terror she felt knowing her father was useless to help her and forced to watch as their captor used his daughter in whichever way he wanted. Likewise, the image couldn't depict the relief she felt when her dad died, knowing he would be spared any further anguish. She sat up sharply, her mind whirling with questions regarding why Four would have this image of her in a file folder on his desk. She returned her feet to the floor, sitting straighter in the chair.

She had no memory of what happened after Matthew and his father found her that day. She had been vaguely aware of people around her, rushing and talking in low, frantic tones, hands poking and prodding at her battered and abused body, but it was as though her mind had finally switched off. And once her grandfather, uncles, and Caleb arrived, she had blissfully sunk into unconsciousness, unaware of the drama going on around her as her grandfather demanded she be transported to the Prior Estate and not a local hospital. She didn't wake until a week later.

She opened the folder wider, her curiosity getting the better of her, even though her senses were tingling and Four's voice echoed through her head, telling her to put it down, to not look deeper. But without another thought, she spread it on the desk, her fingers brushed across the glossy prints, splaying the images across Four's messy workspace so she could see them all.

The one thing these images had in common were they were pictures of her from the crime scene eight years ago, taken from all different angles. These photographs had clearly been captured after the police were called to the scene, and she marveled that the crime scene photographer had snapped so many before she was rushed from the dining room to the hospital. Her removal from the hospital had been almost immediate, and she was transferred to the large private house, where her life had been saved by the technological advances The Dauntless had developed for its agents. She swallowed nervously, willing the bile that rose in her throat down as she shifted her gaze from one to the next, attempting to study the snapshots with as much detachment as possible and again wondering why her boyfriend had these on top of his desk.

Another print caught her attention, and her hand shook as she picked it up from the worn desk. This one was different. The image was of her mother, her eyes wide and unfocused, the gash in her neck long and stark against her pale, lifeless skin. Tris' other hand lifted to her mouth, as if she was trying to keep herself from crying out, but she was unable to stop looking at the grisly photograph in her hand. Her last image of her mother had been as her throat had been slashed before her, and she remembered with clarity the feeling of her mother's warm blood as it sprayed over her face and arms. She'd been forced to move her mother's limp body with the help of her killer into a different room and that had been the last time she had seen her. This picture showed her mother's body but not her soul, her strength of character, her compassion for others, and her constant need to help. Those where the things Tris held onto, not the memory of what this picture showed.

When her hand started to shake, she returned the image to the pile in front of her. She moved the photos again, covering a particularly disturbing one of herself barely clothed, the thin lines etched into her figure by a knife, oozing blood. Again, she couldn't help but wonder how Four could look at these gruesome pictures and still love her. How could he stand to touch her knowing what another man had done to her? She hated that he had seen the proof that she was less than she should be, shattered and broken and unworthy of his love. Telling him what had happened to her was one thing, but for him to have the actual visuals in front of him, that was something else. She then remembered Four had received that other photo of her, the one he had taken and kept all these years, and she shuddered at the thought unconsciously.

"Tris, are you okay?" She vaguely heard Jason from across the way, and she nodded her head absentmindedly, her hand reaching for yet another picture. She moved it to the side of the desk furthest away so Jason wouldn't see what she saw. This one was of her father, and she couldn't stop the sob that escaped her mouth when she registered what it was. His eyes were closed, and his naked upper body showed every slash, every cut, the blood dried long before the picture was taken. The image brought her back to a time in her life she would rather forget, and just as the tears were spilling over and the memory of her father's last moments on this Earth returning, she was brought back to the present.

She heard Four's voice before she saw him, his bark of "Fuck!" echoing in her brain piercingly over the loud buzzing in her ears. She felt rather than watched as he stalked over to her, pushing Jason out of the way until he swiveled his chair, moving her away from the desk and the pictures. He nodded to Jason to keep back then gripped her shoulders, lifting her from the seat and into his arms in one smooth motion.

"What are you doing here?" He asked her gruffly, though there was a hint of tenderness there, as well. He hadn't been shocked to spot her blonde head as he walked out of his captain's office a moment before. He had known the moment she entered the area, but when he heard the sob that escaped her, he knew what she had found and knew he needed to be there for her, to explain and to comfort.

"I wanted to surprise you," she answered, her voice weak, and her body shaking slightly, her eyes unfocused over his shoulder as her mind flashed what she had just seen in front of her eyes again.

Four's gaze shifted down to the photographs spread out on his desk. "When will you learn not to snoop in other people's business?"

"Never," was her soft reply, and Four chuckled a little, pulling back slightly to look her in the eye, his hand lifting to cup her cheek.

"Why do you have those?" She asked, her gaze flickering unconsciously back to the desk, and Four quickly leaned past her, collecting the images into a haphazard stack and shoving them back inside the file where they belonged and closing the folder.

"I'm investigating a crime, remember?" He answered, pushing her back down into the chair as he settled on the edge of the desk.

"Not that crime," she grumbled, seemingly gathering her composure back before squirming a little in the wooden seat. "Shit, Four. You need a new chair. This is absolutely not acceptable for sex."

Four smirked, shaking his head at the woman he loved, again amazed that she could switch so quickly from the vulnerable girl he held in his arms a second ago to the wild woman who had no qualms about sharing her thoughts of sex with him in this work chair. But he knew this was her way of dealing, to store the heartache away until she was alone and could let her anguish out with no one around to see how deeply she was affected by the past. "No, not the original crime," he confirmed before continuing. "But yours and this new one are interwoven. You know that."

He squatted down beside her. "And as for the chair, you can take that up with my boss, but I really don't think we'll be having sex in it, comfy or not, in a room full of police officers."

"Prude," she teased him with a weak smile, accepting his reasoning for why he had those grotesque photographs in his possession.

"Exhibitionist," he bantered back with a smirk.

She looked pensive for a moment, her mind unable to completely forget the images and she shifted nervously in his chair.

Four watched her, feeling something he had never before experienced with Tris; it was almost as if she wanted to say something but wasn't sure how to articulate her thoughts.

"Tris," he started tentatively, not wanting to push her too much given where they were. "Is there something you want to say?"

Tris's eyes again flickered back to the brown folder amongst the clutter of his desk.

"C'mon, Prior," he taunted "You're not the kind of person to shy away from what she wants to say."

Tris's brain acknowledged his challenge and her eyes swung back to his. "How can you be with me when you've seen what he did to me?'"

Four's heart almost broke at her timid voice, so unlike his feisty girlfriend. He knew she struggled with this, with accepting that he still wanted her intimately after knowing all the details of her rape. He was at a loss of how he could convince her nothing would change how he felt. He'd tried words and he'd tried his body, making love to her instead of just fucking, but still she couldn't comprehend his devotion to her.

"Tris, I love you for who you are. Nothing some dickward did eight years ago is gonna change that."

"But how can you look at those pictures, see the blood...the cuts...me naked... and knowing what he did, how he used me...how can you still touch me the way you do? How can you make love to someone who is broken..." She trailed off, not really wanting to have this conversation here, in front of Four's work colleagues, she just hoped her voice was low enough so it didn't carry across the room.

"You're not broken, Tris," Four returned, his stomach turning at her lost look and her private thoughts, something born from a situation she had no control over. "Sometimes you're a frightened, lost, and lonely girl, but you are far from broken. You are strong, independent, incredibly sexy and... well, you're beautiful, Tris, inside and out." He took a deep breath. "And this," he nodded towards the folder, "this is what I am, what I do. I know this evil exists in the world and it's my job to try and stop it. To get justice for the victims so they can heal." He caressed her cheek with the palm of his hand. "Seeing things like this keeps me energized, focused, on making sure sickos who would do that never get to do it to anyone else ever again."

She listened to his words, wanting so much to believe him, but a part of her, the part still trapped within the confines of that dining room with a psychopath intent on hurting her in the most degrading, violent way he could think of, doubted his honesty. She filed it away for another time, not wanting to talk about this here at his workplace. She wanted so much to believe him. She trusted him completely, with her body and her heart, she just wished her brain would get with the program and stop causing this conflict within her.

She forced a grin onto her face as she lifted her hand to his check, her expressive eyes speaking volumes, and she held his gaze for a few moments before he broke their stare.

"I know," he said simply.

"What?" She asked, though her shy smile told him she knew what he was saying.

"That you love me," he clarified.

She rolled her eyes, then smirked to him.

"Yeah. I know, too," she returned before brushing her lips against his gently. She fully intended to leave it at that, because at that moment she didn't in the least feel as sexy or as beautiful as he said he saw her, but he returned his lips to hers, this time following with his tongue and Tris responded with more ferocity. The need to stand forced Four from his squatting position, and he brought Tris with him, wrapping his arms around her waist once they were upright. Tris became aware of the stillness in the room the same time Four did, and they slowly dragged themselves away from each other, turning their heads to see every eye trained on them.

"Okay, show's over," Four barked to them all, and several people moved at once, returning to whatever they were doing.

"Eaton," a stern voice bellowed. "Smooch on your own time. Get back to work."

"Is that your boss?" Tris asked, moving away from his chair so he could sit at his desk and choosing to lean against the old piece of furniture instead.

"Yep," Four answered, picking up the file of her case and placing it in one of the drawers.

"Oooh, are you in trouble?" She teased.

"We can't all own our own multi-billion dollar company and get to head out of the office whenever the urge takes us," he quipped.

Tris just shrugged as she perched on his desk, crossing her legs, her hands holding the edge as she leaned forward a little. She smirked as his eyes traveled down to catch a glimpse of the cleavage revealed in this position before she spoke. "We all have our crosses to bear." She watched him as he tidied his desk a little before she asked, "Do you wanna have lunch with me?"

Four looked at her sideways, pausing as he held a few folders in one hand. "Is that one of your strange euphemisms for sex?"

"No, it's an invitation to lunch," she laughed.

"Of course," Four drew out. "And is lunch all we'll be having?"

"Geez, Bear. Is sex all you want me for?" She teased.

"Well," he smirked. "Not all I want you for, but you have to admit, sex with me is awesome."

Tris laughed at his boasting, her dark thoughts from a few minutes ago disappearing at his jesting.

"Okay," she smiled. "You finish up. I just have to go have a word with your boss." And she slid from the desk, bending slightly to retrieve her purse from where she had dropped it earlier.

"Hey, Blondie. What mischief are you getting into this time?" He asked, curious as to why she wanted to have a word with his boss.

"Me? Mischief?" She returned with a wink. "Now, which one is his office?"

Four pointed out the office nearest the elevators, and Tris pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Don't be long, Bear," and she turned, heading the direction he had indicated.

Four couldn't help the huge grin at her words. Bear. He loved it when she called him her pet name. He figured Bear was her version of babe, without the corniness he knew she hated. It meant one thing to him, every time she called him that, she was telling him she loved him.

Tris moved back through the bullpen, smiling to the many whose eyes followed her before stopping in front of the captain's office, taking a deep breath before announcing her presence.

She knocked sharply on the glass and waited patiently until she was invited in.

Captain Taylor was a tall, heavy set man with a large middle-age spread. He had a long face and his hair was turning gray. He was stationed behind his desk, surveying a few files, as he occasionally looked up to catch the time on the clock that was mounted on one of the walls of his office.

"Yeah, waddya want?" He huffed, irritated to be disturbed again, before looking up to see the blonde who had just been smooching one of his best detectives.

Tris raised an eyebrow at his grumpy attitude as she sauntered closer to his large desk, noting it was much nicer than her boyfriend's, as well as the desks of most of the officers and detectives in the bullpen.

"I mean, what can I do for you?" He rephrased quickly, almost standing from his seat. There was something about this woman that commanded your attention, and it wasn't just her beauty. It was the way she moved, her posture, her very being almost, and Ken Taylor berated himself for his thoughts as they began to wander.

"I think it's more what I can do for you?" Tris smiled, and the captain almost choked. "Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Tris Prior," and she offered him her hand.

"Ken Taylor," he automatically responded, taking her hand and shaking it slowly. "Please," he indicated to a chair in front of him, and Tris wrinkled her nose at what looked like an extremely uncomfortable wooden chair.

"I'm good, thanks," she smiled and dropped her purse on the seat as the captain settled back into his cushy office chair. She wasted no time, setting straight into what she had to say to the man. "I understand my parents' murder case has been re-opened."

"Well, I... wait... you are that Tris Prior?"

"Yes," Tris smiled, amused by his question. "How many Tris Priors do you know?"

"Well, none. Only yourself… by reputation," Captain Taylor replied. "I'd just been made Captain when your parents were killed. It was such a tragedy. And I believe it's quite a miracle you survived."

"I had excellent doctors," Tris said offhandedly, not at all intent on telling this man the real reason she survived. "Anyway, I just wanted to say if there is anything I or my family can do to help catch this bastard, then please don't hesitate to ask."

Ken was taken aback a little at her brash language but then smiled, thinking deep down it suited her. "We'll certainly let you know," he spoke slowly, unsure how to respond to her statement.

Tris reached into her purse and pulled out a thin rectangular book, earning a puzzled look from the police captain, who didn't realize what she was about to do.

"The Prior Group would like to offer your department a donation to help improve the excellent work you are doing," she spieled, secretly gloating that if it wasn't for The Dauntless, the C.P.D.'s high-profile arrest sheet wouldn't look so good, and hoping Four would get a new desk and chair out of this.

Captain Taylor smirked to her, wondering about her motives. "Your boyfriend been complaining we won't give him a new desk?"

"Not at all," Tris answered, leaning over his desk slightly to write out one of The Prior Group's checks for the donation. "Four never talks about his work. That's unethical, right?"

She ripped the sheet from the book and handed it over, dropping her pen and checkbook back in her purse in one smooth motion as she looked at him. "I hope this will help."

Captain Taylor chuckled at her comment before glancing down at the paper in his hand.

"Holy shit," he said as he dropped back into his chair.

"So, will that be okay for new computers, desks..." she grinned. "...And chairs?"

"Two times over," Captain Taylor acknowledged, nodding his head slowly, still stunned at the amount of money the check he held in his palm promised.

"Well, don't get the cheap shit then," she quipped as she picked her bag up again, throwing the straps over her shoulder, and without saying anything else, she exited the office before Captain Taylor could say anymore.

He didn't hear her leave as he again looked at the check, noticing her signature was surprisingly girly and frivolous, not something you would expect to see on a corporate check above the printed title of Vice-President.

He whistled low and said to himself. "Look at all those zeros!"

…

Tris moved through the corridor looking for something, anything. After being turned out of the gym by Four, she needed something to do while he continued his workout. She heard laughter in front of her and steered her body in that direction, stopping outside the kitchen and peering in. Christina, Uriah, and Lynn were standing beside one of the large kitchens granite islands; mixing bowls and baking paraphernalia spread before them.

"What are you doing?" Tris asked as she moved cautiously into the room.

"We're making chocolate cake," Uriah grinned.

"What!" Tris exclaimed, her eyes quickly scanning the area, "Where's Greg?"

"He had a family emergency or something," Lynn said as she reached for the oversized flour container.

"And Uriah has a craving for chocolate cake, so…" Christina continued.

"We are taking over his domain," Uriah finished in a hushed whisper.

Tris shook her head at her friends. "And you say I have a death wish," she said seriously. Then a grin spread across her face. "Can I help?"

Lynn, Uriah, and Christina all exchanged skeptical looks, each knowing Greg and his rules about Tris being let loose in his kitchen.

"I don't know, Tris," Christina said eventually, looking with unease at her friend.

"Oh, let her help," Lynn mumbled as started counting cups of flour into a bowl.

"Yeah, what's the worst that can happen," Uriah agreed, making room for the blonde at the counter.

"Famous last words of a dead man," Christina shot out.

"No, Tris!" Four heard as he moved down the corridor. He'd finished his workout and now just wanted to shower and relax for the rest of the day. He knew he'd upset Tris when he refused to spar with her, but quite frankly, he was fed up with his girlfriend kicking his ass. The panicked tone in whoever had shrieked his girlfriend's name spiked his curiosity and he changed direction, stopping short when he entered the kitchen and the scene that greeted him.

Tris was standing in the middle of the kitchen, a large plastic apron practically covering her entire body, a pair of eye protectors on her face, and large, yellow latex gloves over her hands. She had some sort of goo in her hair, a streak of chocolate on her cheek, and what looked like flour over… everything.

Christina looked beyond frazzled. She had a powdered handprint on the butt of her jeans, the entire left side of her face was now white, and she was scrubbing feverishly at something over a few of the pristine wall tiles. Uriah was trying to pry something from Tris' hands, he also had what looked like flour in his hair, and what looked like the beginnings of a black eye, the area around his right eye socket swollen and puffy. Lynn, miraculously, was the only one untouched with baking ingredients, and she was sitting crossed-legged on a countertop, a large mixing bowl before her and a spatula in her hand.

"What happened in here?" Four asked gingerly as he moved further into the space. Christina shot him a look he was sure would kill him, or at least leave him seriously maimed, while Uriah sighed with relief at the sight of him.

"Thank fuck for that," the younger man breathed out. He turned Tris around and pushed her in Four's direction. "Will you please get her out of here before something terrible happens."

"Hey!" Tris protested at being shoved around.

"What did you do?" Four asked her, a little in awe of the destruction around him and the fact it could all be attributed to the slight girl in front of him.

"Me?" Tris exclaimed with wide eyes. "What makes you think this is my fault?"

Four smirked at her as he lifted a finger to glide along her cheek, collecting the chocolate batter smeared there as it went, before bringing it in front of her eyes so she could see it. She raised a brow in challenge, almost as if daring him to say something, as she crossed her arms in front of her. When Four mirrored her brow arch, waiting for an answer, she leaned forward and took his finger into her mouth, curling her tongue to collect the chocolate there.

"Oh God," Lynn groaned, unfolding her legs and dropping down from the counter. "If you guys are gonna go at it, I'm leaving."

"Hey," Christina called out, stopping the short girl. "What about helping us clear this shit up."

Lynn shrugged. "I didn't make it," she said evenly as she neared the door. "Don't let the cupcakes burn," were her final words as she left.

Once Tris had cleaned Four's finger she pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around his neck as he looked at her tenderly. "Why does it look like Uriah has a black eye?" He asked.

"That was Christina's fault," Tris answered innocently.

Four glanced at Christina, who was still scrubbing at the wall. When she huffed loudly at Tris' defense he switched his gaze to Uriah, who was making himself busy trying to wipe some of the flour from the countertop.

He looked back at Tris and titled his head toward her, his brow raised again in question, waiting for her to answer.

Tris huffed in annoyance as she pulled back from and took a step away. "She didn't tell me I needed to put a lid on that whizzing thing so when the stuff exploded out it surprised me and I jumped back," she said.

"And…"

"And then I slipped on some egg yolk on the floor and grabbed for something to steady me."

Four looked at Uriah to see him smirk a little.

"What did you grab at?" Four probed, a smile somehow working its way on his face.

"Uriah's junk," Christina grinned from across the room.

"It was all innocent, man," Uriah said quickly, his hands up in surrender.

"Still doesn't explain the eye," Four said.

Tris looked down at the floor, the toe of her shoe brushing through some of the flour there. "It kinda surprised me, what I grabbed, and I turned too quickly and hit him in the eye with the wooden spoon I was holding."

Four couldn't stop his grin from growing. Yes, his girlfriend had indeed created all this destruction all on her own. That was certainly impressive.

…

The full moon cast silvery shadows across the room from a window thrown open wide to let in the night air, a gentle breeze moving into the space as a man, tall, toned, and tanned walked through his apartment. The lunar light bounced off the pearls of sweat that glistened on his naked body as he took another drink from the beer he held softly in his hand. His other hand rubbed lazily over his broad, smooth chest, a smiling pulling at the corner of his lips as he replayed the day's events in his mind.

It had been more than a month since he'd crossed Tris' path again, since he looked into her eyes and saw the girl he met eight years ago. The strength he felt emanating from her was overpowering, and he couldn't wait for the moment when he got to touch her again. His smile grew at the thought of the many ways in which he could have fun with her.

He moved through his apartment, enjoying the soft movement of the air against his overheated skin. He paused on his way to the kitchen, his head turning almost automatically to face a closed white door. His legs started moving again, his direction changed, and he was soon standing before the entrance to his favorite place in this apartment, his hand upon the chrome knob.

He entered the room swiftly, locking himself in. The room was sparsely furnished, a bed and a bedside table the only items of note there. Brown drapes framed the wide window, and a small, simple shade covered the light bulb in the ceiling. But the room was far from bare.

The walls were adorned with hundreds of photographs in varying sizes. Close ups, distant shots, a few in stark black and white, but most were in vivid color. The subject was the same in each picture: A slim blonde haired woman with vibrant hazel eyes.

Eric Simmons stood in the middle of the room, his eyes roaming the images covering the walls from floor to ceiling. He took another drink from the beer bottle, draining the last of the liquid from it before setting the empty vessel down on the small table and crossing the room to look closer at one particular picture. His hand reached out, and his fingers danced over the glossy print. She had been unconscious when he had taken this picture. Her hands were bound high above her head, securing her in place with tape around her wrists, and then attached to the thick, solid leg of the mahogany dining table. She was completely naked, her head tilted to one side, her legs slightly open to the viewer, almost demurely, and Eric felt his body react to the sight before him.

Even with the marks on her body, she was perfect.

That was the one thing about the whole situation he hadn't liked, the marking of her body, the marring of her flawless, alabaster flesh. But that had been the one stipulation his client had requested; that he fucked with her perfection as much as he fucked with her. That he made her less than the flawless person everyone thought her to be, that he made her ugly, used her, and took her dignity.

Despite all that, all he was instructed to do to her, he couldn't scar her face.

His gaze shifted to another picture taken the same week, this time from a different angle. This photograph was a close up on the gentle curve of her young breast, small in size, though perfect for her body, and her nipple stood erect and rosy against her creamy-soft skin. The eroticism of the picture surged through him.

Yet another picture caught his eye, and he moved over a little. In this image, she was older, fully clothed, but still, his mind wandered at what he knew was hidden under the coral silk dress she wore in the image. In the print she was walking across the street, looking behind her as she strode out onto the crosswalk, her hair shining in the midday sunshine and falling down around her shoulders, and a length of leg showing through a long slit in her dress.

He turned again to another picture, this one even more recent. She was wrapped securely in the arms of a man, her head titled to the side so his lips could have access her slender neck.

Eric moved to another wall covered with more pictures of her naked body, and his hand clasped his now erect penis, his fist pumping slowly as his mind recalled the way she moved. His other hand reached out for the wall, his finger again brushing against the wall of prints, and he imagined he was touching her body, caressing her breast and teasing her nipple. He could almost hear her moaning with pleasure under his ministrations, something she had never done in their time together, but something he yearned to hear from her.

His fisted hand moved quicker as he panted with his need, the need to actually touch her again, the need to be moving within her, the need for her to be his completely.

All too soon his orgasm erupted, his semen spurting out of him and flying against the wall, covering a few pictures.

He staggered back, breathing heavily, and he sat abruptly on the edge of the twin bed.

"You're fuckin' awesome, babe," he whispered to the room filled with her images, grinning as his seed slid slowly down the wall.

He took a few more deep breaths before standing again and moving swiftly across the room, exiting his shrine and closing the door softly behind him.

He didn't bother cleaning himself up, what was the point? He sauntered down the short hallway to another room in the apartment. He slipped effortlessly into this room, the smell filling his nostrils immediately. The odor of sweat, sex, and blood. A scent which made him smile as images of her flooded his memory again.

His grin widened at the sound of a pitiful, muffled whimper. "Sssh, little one," he cooed gently, crossing the small space to the large bed in the center of this room. A slight figure on the bed fought against her restraints as he moved closer. "Soon, this will be all over for you. And then I'll be ready. Ready for her."

He watched as her terrified eyes darted down his body, widening in fright at the sight of his semi-erect penis and the fluid that glistened on his body.

She squirmed on the bed, trying desperately to escape, though she knew her efforts were useless, she knew her life would soon end at the hands of this crazed man before her, and despite her fear, her utter terror at what he did to her, what he could do to her, her fear for this unknown girl he talked about was greater.

…