Bound to Her by Deborah Pin (debian ebook reader txt) 📕

out for Kitty.” He was waiting for a response from her.

“Okay.” At the moment there was just no argument to be had.

“I’d like to stop over at Imogen’s whenever you get home tomorrow.

We need to talk about some things.”

He left her with that and she sat stunned for a minute after they disconnected. Imogen just watched her. Their normal brand of sarcasm was lost at the moment and she didn’t even attempt to make a comment

about Dillon’s ass. She was worried—and Imogen didn’t do worried.

After a couple of minutes, Imogen turned to her. “Spring break’s

coming up, Trink.”

“And?”

“And I’m going to be on the other side of the world for nearly two damn weeks! Just say it, love. Tell me to cancel and stay and I’ll call my

mum and dad. They’ll understand. Or better yet, come with me. They love you and I can’t stand the idea of—”

“I can’t go, Imogen. I’ll be okay.”

“You can’t honestly say that, now can you! Damn stubborn girl you are!” She was pissed. But it was only because she was so worried. It was

about the only time Imogen ever got angry. “Then stay here. Bring that

damn old cat with you and you stay here. Please?” She was just plain begging now.

Katrina watched her. Her eyes were as pleading as her voice was and

after a deep breath, Katrina nodded. Imogen grabbed Katrina’s hand and

refused to let go. She had tears in her eyes and that alone left Katrina sniffling back her own emotion.

She’d been very wrong to assume this could possibly or would

possibly go away on its own. How was it really possible Katrina could ever have caught the attention of a psychopath who wanted her dead?

She was just Katrina. A lackluster junior-high teacher who hadn’t dated

for months, had never been much of a flirt and was too quiet, too normal

and just too damn boring to attract the attention. Why was this

happening to her?

* * * * *

The next day was entirely too long and difficult to get through. She’d

gotten choked-up during lunch as she’d watched a couple of young

teachers laughing about something and had to escape the teachers’

lounge in a hurry with Imogen on her heels.

Something had changed. Or nothing had changed and she was just finally figuring that out. The night before was a glaring and ugly reminder that absolutely nothing had changed at all. The psychopath was still after her, he’d certainly not been scared off and yes, Katrina was an absolute idiot to be lulled into the notion that perhaps this whole nightmare was over. It was very much not over.

Part of her was anxious to see Dillon. She felt safe when he was by her

side—likely the only time at all she felt safe anymore. But it was uncomfortable. She didn’t want to admit just how much his reaction a couple days before had hurt her feelings. He’d very intentionally ignored

her and it just plain hurt. She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it, even amid all the fear and chaos in her life. He’d found it more than easy

to simply look away, walk away, drive away as though he hadn’t even seen her. Still, she wanted to see him.

Imogen was intentionally going to make herself scarce that night but

when Katrina had assured her it wasn’t necessary as they’d finished their

lunch in Katrina’s classroom, she’d gotten nothing more than a

mischievous smile.

“It’s not like that, Imogen,” she’d said very truthfully. It was exactly

what she believed.

“I don’t think you have a clue. That man can’t take his eyes off you when you’re together and the fact you’re blind to that is oh-so-very-Trink-like. Sorry love but you’re the queen of underestimating yourself.

The man’s smitten.”

“Doesn’t really matter and I’m starting to get that.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“It’s not.” She hated that she was starting to understand this. “Think

about it. You let yourself care about someone you’re trying to protect—

how do you keep your perspective?”

“Maybe it makes him work harder for you.”

“Or maybe it makes it hard to be rational, logical, focused. I’m just saying I get it. If you have to do this for a living, it’d kill you to care too much for every victim you encountered. Wouldn’t it?” And then the bell

rang. They were sitting in Katrina’s classroom after her mild lunchtime meltdown and as Imogen stood to leave she pecked Katrina on top of her

head.

But now it was hours later and she was nervously pacing in Imogen’s kitchen waiting for him to arrive. He’d sent a quick text when he was on

his way and she’d pathetically checked her face and hair, changed into one of Imogen’s far-cuter shirts and ran through a light cloud of Imogen’s best perfume.

When she stepped in front of the bathroom mirror, she took in the sight of herself. Her eyes had those ugly dark circles again after another

night of tossing and turning, she’d lost a bit of weight—no complaints there—and she looked depressed. “Idiot,” she muttered to herself as she

heard the doorbell ring.

He looked quite incredible standing on Imogen’s porch, wearing a

perfectly fitted pair of jeans, lightweight sweater and impeccably

polished brown loafers. He held a folder in his hand and her eyes instantly moved to it. Whatever was in there was meant for her to see and she was suddenly on high alert. He’d said they had something to talk about. She’d not missed the subtle if not vague insinuation in his voice and it had something to do with that folder.

She held the door open for him as he walked in. He seemed mildly uncomfortable around her but then wasn’t that just where they were at this point?

“I let myself through the gate. I hope that was okay.” She nodded and

offered him a cup of tea before she put a kettle on the stove. When she

turned back to him, the folder was sitting on the counter and he rounded

the bar to sit at one of the stools.

“May I?” She asked, meeting his eyes as she touched the folder. He nodded, steepling his fingers against his mouth and studying her calmly.

However calm he might have outwardly appeared, she wasn’t buying it.

There was a tension to his body, a seriousness to his eyes he couldn’t disguise.

Her hands trembled as she reached back to the folder and opened it.

Then she sucked in a shocked breath. She was aware her mouth was hanging open but what the fuck!

It was her—or parts of her. It was her face but it was most definitely

not her body, not unless she posed for some hard-core pornographic photos without recalling. The Photoshop job was bad to her estimation but it was good enough to not look comical.

If someone didn’t know better, they’d likely think she was a pinup girl with a proclivity for spreading her legs wide and splaying her own

vagina open with her fingers. This was more than soft porn. This was gratuitous and her fucking face was on it!

“Oh my God! This isn’t me!”

“I know. I know. You don’t have to look at them if you don’t want to

but I don’t want to hide it from you either.” Not look? How the hell could she not look? There’d been countless people traipsing through her home the night before, seeing these images. How the hell could she not

look?

She found more of the same on the next page. This pose was beyond

compromising and featured another stunning, voluptuous body bound

with the legs again splayed open and hiding nothing at all. She was mortified and her cheeks were burning furiously. His eyes drifted away

from her as she flipped to the next picture. Her own shyness at having her face attached to this body made sense, his sudden shyness did not.

The pictures alone would be enough to leave her gasping in

humiliation in front of this man. Add her head to the mix and she was in

humiliation hell. All she could do was cover her mouth, keep her eyes down and keep moving through the pictures. She made it past seven more similar images before she finally understood Dillon’s own state.

When she first saw it, her body tingled. It was inappropriate but it did. On the page, another female with Katrina’s face was on her hands and knees with her chest to the ground, her nipples brushing the fabric

surface she was on.

But behind her was a man’s torso—a very fit and stunning torso. It wasn’t the torso that brought her up short but the incredibly handsome

head on top of the torso. Dillon’s calm expression from some unknown

photograph had been transplanted onto this image. His lips were slightly

parted in the photo, and though the original likely hadn’t looked at all seductive, coupled with the naked torso and the strong masculine fingers

that gripped the woman’s hips, it looked exceptionally sexual. Dillon was

fucking her in this image.

She didn’t even realize she’d started panting raggedly until Dillon’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Please keep going.” His voice was

husky as he spoke and she couldn’t even muster a glance up at him as

she moved to the next image.

Again she was on the page. This time on her back with her legs

splayed wide open, her neck craned back to look at the camera above and slightly behind her head. An awkward position to say the least, except necessary to capture the face of the man between her legs with his

dick buried halfway in her body. Of course the man had Dillon’s face.

In total there were five pictures of them together and each one sent an

inappropriate tingle through her body even as she tried to gulp down calming breaths of air. Her fingers trembled as she moved from one image to another, forced to study incredibly vulgar poses with her and Dillon’s faces on them.

When she flipped to a photograph of her bedroom, she was relieved.

But it didn’t last. At first she couldn’t see the focus of the photograph but the next moved closer to her bed and the next closer still until there was

little question what she was looking at.

She recognized the flesh-colored silicone phallus lying in the center of

her bed. She choked on her tongue. Around the dildo were a couple of the pictures she’d just been looking at. Her body was trembling and the

picture was making a fluttering sound against the countertop as her fingers tried desperately to hold it still.

“I have to ask.” He didn’t need to say anything more.

“Yes. It looks like mine.” He was silent. She knew he was watching her but she still couldn’t force her eyes up to meet his. “But no, I haven’t fucked you in front of a camera, if you were curious.”

She was being sarcastic. She just wasn’t sure what else to be under the

circumstances. He chuckled quietly and at the sound of his warmth she

finally managed to look up. He was watching her gently and he wasn’t

shying away from her at all. “And my boobs aren’t nearly that big either

or that fake for that matter.” Now the gentle expression turned to a small

smile.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. This lunatic obviously knows you’re working on this

case and I…” He rounded the counter as she spoke and she pulled

herself up to sit on the countertop.

“Stop. This isn’t your fault and I don’t want to hear an ounce of guilt

in your voice.” She pushed the folder away from her, refusing to give it even one more moment of her time. “I meant to ask yesterday—was Josh

Grant in class last night?”

She met his eyes again before shaking her head. “No. He wasn’t.” He

took a deep breath.

“I don’t know what to make of him. He doesn’t have a criminal

background I’ve found yet, at least not in Washington. It’ll take a bit longer to know if he’s got something out of state but I don’t like him.

He’s artistic and this…” He indicated the folder sitting next to her. “Well

I wouldn’t call it art exactly.”

“Yeah. Artistic. Not sure that’s the same thing as…as Photoshopistic.”

His lips pulled up again. He had beautiful lips and her eyes got stuck

there for a moment. When he licked them, her eyes flashed