Chapter 3: Voice Activated
The Mercedes’ tires hissed against wet asphalt, a sound swallowed by the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of Radiohead’s ‘Myxomatosis’ replacing ‘Creep’ on the stereo. The bass vibrated through the leather seats, syncing unnervingly with the frantic pulse Edward felt throbbing beneath Sarah’s lips. Pine branches scraped the passenger window like skeletal fingers in the headlights' glare.
"Sarah... Jesus... the road..." Edward gasped, his knuckles bone-white on the steering wheel. His eyes darted between the dark, winding ribbon ahead and the crown of Sarah’s blonde head moving relentlessly in his lap. The heat, the wet suction, the scrape of her teeth just there – it sent a jolt up his spine, making his foot twitch on the accelerator. The heavy SUV lurched left, tires bumping over the double yellow lines before he wrenched it back. Cold sweat prickled his forehead despite the car's warmth. "It's... it's not safe. Chloe... we need to call Chloe."
Sarah pulled off him with a slick, wet sound, her lips glistening. Moonlight caught the predatory gleam in her eyes as she looked up, her breath hot on his exposed skin. "So call her," she murmured, her voice low and thick. A manicured nail traced the vein bulging along his shaft. "Use the dash. Hands-free." Before he could protest, before he could even draw a full breath, her head dipped again, engulfing him completely, deeper this time, her throat working.
Edward groaned, a sound ripped from somewhere primal and terrified. The conflicting sensations were overwhelming: the exquisite pressure of her mouth, the sharp bite of fear for his daughter, the sheer physical impossibility of concentrating on the treacherous canyon road. He fumbled blindly with his right hand, stretching towards the glowing dashboard screen. His fingers trembled violently, slick with condensation or sweat, he couldn’t tell. Each bob of Sarah’s head, each flick of her tongue against the sensitive underside, sent another tremor through his hand, making the icons on the screen blur.
Focus. Chloe. The thought was a desperate flare in the fog of lust and panic. He stabbed at the phone icon. Missed. Swiped clumsily. Found the recent calls list. Chloe’s name swam into view. He jabbed at it.
The dashboard display shifted. ‘Calling Chloe Miller…’ pulsed softly in blue light. The ringing tone began, a sharp, electronic chirp cutting through the bass-heavy music and the obscene, wet sounds filling the car.
Ring… Ring…
Sarah didn’t pause. Her rhythm intensified, her hand joining her mouth, working him with practiced efficiency. Edward’s hips bucked involuntarily against the seatbelt restraint. The car drifted again, tires crunching gravel on the shoulder. He gasped, wrenching the wheel back, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The headlights swept wildly across the dense wall of foliage.
Ring… Ring…
"Sarah, please... stop... just for a second..." His voice was ragged, barely audible over the ringing and the music and the slick, rhythmic sounds. He could feel the tension coiling low in his belly, a dangerous warmth spreading, but not the precipice yet. Not close. Just the agonizing, relentless climb. Fear held it partially at bay, a counterweight to Sarah’s skilled assault.
She ignored him. Her nails dug into his thighs, anchoring him, demanding his submission. Her head moved faster, her hair brushing his stomach. The ringing continued, a maddening counterpoint to the car’s engine drone and the wet symphony in his lap.
Ring… Ring…
Edward stared fixedly ahead, sweat stinging his eyes. The canyon road seemed to narrow, the darkness pressing in. Every curve felt sharper, every shadow deeper. He strained to hear beyond the cacophony inside the car, listening for an answer, praying for Chloe’s voice to cut through the madness. The Mercedes hugged another bend, tires squealing faintly. Sarah hummed around him, the vibration shooting sparks up his spine. His grip on the wheel was slick, desperate.
Ring… Ring…
The blue light on the dashboard pulsed. Waiting. The ringing drilled into his skull, merging with the drumbeat of the song and the frantic pounding of his own heart. He couldn’t look down. Couldn’t acknowledge the obscenity happening below the steering wheel. All his frayed attention was split three ways: the treacherous road unwinding before him, the agonizingly pleasurable torment Sarah inflicted, and the desperate, unanswered call echoing through the car’s speakers, connecting him to a daughter whose peril he was too distracted, too selfishly consumed, to truly comprehend. The canyon walls felt like they were closing in, the headlights illuminating only the next few feet of asphalt before plunging back into the hungry dark.
The canyon walls felt like they were closing in, the headlights illuminating only the next few feet of asphalt before plunging back into the hungry dark. The ringing abruptly cut off, replaced by Chloe’s bright, recorded voice echoing unnaturally loud in the tense cabin. "Hey, it's Chloe! Leave a message or, like, text me!"
Before Edward could even process the disconnect, Sarah’s free hand snaked out. Her thumb, slick and cool, tapped the glowing red ‘End Call’ icon on the dashboard screen with practiced ease. The blue light vanished instantly, plunging the interior back into the dominance of pulsing bass and wet sounds. She didn’t pause her rhythm, didn’t lift her head.
"What the hell?" Edward choked out, his voice tight with panic and disbelief. His eyes flickered wildly from the suddenly dark screen to the road and back to Sarah’s moving head. The Mercedes drifted right, tires whispering over the center line. Pine needles scraped the windshield. "Sarah! What are you doing?"
She pulled off him just enough, lips hovering wetly over his tip. Her eyes, glinting in the dashboard light, met his. A slow, knowing smile curved her mouth. "She didn't pick up, Eddie," Sarah murmured, her voice husky and thick. Her breath ghosted hotly over sensitive skin. "Probably busy." She winked, a grotesque parody of conspiracy. "Don't worry about it."
Her head dipped again, engulfing him completely, deeper and faster than before. The sudden, intense suction ripped a ragged groan from Edward’s throat. His hips jerked violently against the seatbelt strap. His foot spasmed on the accelerator.
The heavy SUV surged forward. Edward’s grip on the wheel slipped, slick with sweat. He yanked it left, overcorrecting wildly. The tires screamed against the asphalt as the Mercedes fishtailed across the empty lane. The headlights swept crazily across the sheer rock face on one side, then plunged into the terrifying void of the canyon drop-off on the other. Pine branches slapped the passenger side window like frantic hands trying to get in. For a heart-stopping second, the car felt weightless, teetering on the edge. Edward gasped, pure terror momentarily overriding everything else. He stomped the brake, wrenching the wheel back towards the road’s center. The SUV shuddered, tires finding purchase again with a sickening lurch. Sarah never stopped. Her hand tightened on his thigh, nails biting deep. Her relentless rhythm continued, a counterpoint to the frantic drumming of his heart against his ribs. The scent of pine and fear mixed with her perfume and the musk of sex. The canyon road stretched ahead, darker and more treacherous than ever.
The Mercedes swayed again, tires whispering over loose gravel near the crumbling edge. Edward sucked in a sharp, pine-scented breath, his knuckles aching from their death grip on the wheel. Sarah’s relentless rhythm continued, a humid, wet counterpoint to the engine’s drone and the thumping bass still vibrating the floorboards.
"Sarah," he managed, his voice a tight rasp, barely audible over the music and the slick sounds she made. Sweat trickled down his temple. "This... this road. Please." He flinched as a low-hanging branch scraped the roof like fingernails. "Just... stop until we're clear."
Her only response was a low hum that vibrated through his entire body, her fingers digging deeper into the muscle of his thigh. She didn't slow, didn't lift her head. Her other hand slid up from his knee, tracing a path that made his breath hitch. The road curved sharply left. He wrenched the wheel, the tires complaining softly. The headlights swept across a sheer rock face, momentarily blinding.
He fought to keep his eyes forward, fixed on the tunnel of darkness punched through by the headlights. Steam fogged the lower corners of the windshield. The smell of hot leather, her expensive perfume, and something muskier filled the close air. Fear and arousal warred in his gut, a sickening cocktail. Each pull of her mouth was exquisite torture, pulling his focus relentlessly downwards. "It’s too narrow," he whispered, more to himself. "Blind corners." Another scrape echoed as the passenger mirror kissed a thicket of manzanita.
Sarah increased the suction, hollowing her cheeks. Edward gasped, his foot slipping slightly on the accelerator. The engine revved higher for a split second. He eased off, forcing his leg rigid. Her hair, freed from its clip, slid across his bare stomach, soft and infuriating. He could feel the tension building, a dangerous warmth coiling low, but not the release. Not yet. Terror was a potent dam. "Sarah, I mean it," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "This is insane."
She pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. Her lips were swollen, glistening. Moonlight caught the predatory amusement in her eyes again. "Relax, Eddie," she murmured, her breath hot. Her tongue flicked out, tracing the head. "I've got you." Before he could muster another protest, she took him deep again, her throat opening in a way that made him cry out, a raw sound lost in the music. Her nails were like claws now, pinning his thigh to the seat.
The SUV drifted again, the tires crunching over more roadside debris. Edward jerked the wheel back, his heart hammering against his ribs. The canyon wall loomed terrifyingly close on his left; on his right, the void yawned, invisible beyond the headlights' reach. The scent of crushed pine needles mixed with the heady musk of her. He was trapped. Trapped by the road, trapped by her, trapped by the terrifying, exquisite sensation that threatened to shatter his control any second. He squeezed his eyes shut for a fatal instant, then snapped them open, scanning the darkness ahead with desperate intensity. Sarah’s rhythm shifted, becoming slower, deeper, more deliberate. Her head bobbed steadily, her focus absolute, heedless of the abyss that slid by just feet away or the tremors running through the man whose life depended on his wavering attention. The road curved again, a tighter bend this time, swallowed by the hungry dark.
The Mercedes vanished around the bend, swallowed by the canyon’s deeper dark, its engine noise fading into the night’s hum. Inside the Miller’s backyard, steam rose thickly from the churning jacuzzi water, catching the moonlight like ghostly fingers. Chloe Miller arched her spine, a low moan escaping her lips as she rocked slowly atop Marcus, the hot jets pulsing against her lower back.
“Fuck, Marcus,” she breathed, her voice husky, head thrown back. Her wet hair clung to her shoulders. “Just like that. Don’t stop.” Her hips rolled with deliberate slowness, savoring the friction, the heat inside and out. Marcus’s hands slid up her slick thighs, fingers digging possessively into the soft flesh of her hips, guiding her rhythm.
He groaned, the sound vibrating against her skin where their bodies met. “Christ, Chloe… you feel insane.” His eyes, dark with desire, traced the curve of her breast, the moonlight silvering the droplets clinging to her skin. “So fucking tight.” His thumbs brushed the sensitive skin just below her navel, making her gasp and clench around him.
She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest, bringing her face close to his. Her breath was hot against his mouth. “Tell me,” she demanded, her voice a whisper thick with want. “Tell me how much you want to come.” She ground down harder, eliciting another sharp gasp from him. A bead of sweat traced a path down his temple.
Marcus’s jaw tightened, fighting the rising tide. “Not yet,” he managed, his voice strained. His hands slid up to cup her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples, already hardened by the cool air and the heat below. “Want to feel you… forever.” He pulled her down for a fierce, biting kiss, tasting chlorine and her own sweetness.
Chloe broke the kiss, panting. “Liar,” she teased, a wicked smile playing on her lips. She lifted herself almost completely off him, hovering just above, the water sluicing down her thighs. The sudden coolness made Marcus hiss. “You’re dying to fill me up.” She watched his face, the desperate need etched there. “Beg for it.”
Forty yards away, nestled deep within the shadow of a sprawling California oak, the killer watched. His cold eyes didn’t blink. The rhythmic scrape of his hunting knife against the leather strap had ceased minutes ago. Now, only stillness. The steam from the tub partially obscured the couple, framing them in shifting veils of white vapor against the dark backdrop of the house. Their moans, Chloe’s sharp commands, Marcus’s ragged pleas, carried clearly on the still night air, cutting through the chirping crickets.
He noted the angle of Marcus’s neck, exposed as he arched back against the tub’s edge. He saw the vulnerable line of Chloe’s throat as she tilted her head back again, lost in sensation. The knife handle was cool, solid, familiar in his gloved hand. The blade caught a sliver of moonlight, a brief, cold wink. He breathed slowly, shallowly, a predator perfectly attuned to the rhythms of his prey. The moment wasn't perfect. Not yet. The girl was too alert, riding high on sensation. The boy was straining, fighting his climax, muscles taut with tension. Vulnerability peaked at release, or just after. That’s when the body went slack, the mind detached. That’s when the silence screamed loudest.
Chloe sank back down onto Marcus, seating him fully with a deep, satisfied sigh that morphed into another groan. “God, yes… there.” She began moving again, faster now, her rhythm losing its earlier languid control. Water sloshed over the tub’s edge. “Feel how wet you make me?” Her voice was thick, almost slurred with pleasure. “All for you.”
Marcus’s hands gripped her waist, his knuckles white. “Chloe… fuck… I can’t…” His hips bucked upwards involuntarily, seeking deeper, harder. Sweat mingled with chlorinated water on his forehead. “Need… need…”
“Not yet!” Chloe commanded sharply, grinding to a halt, clenching hard around him. She leaned close again, her lips brushing his ear. “Hold it,” she whispered, her breath hot. “Hold it for me. Just a little longer.” She nipped his earlobe. “Be good.”
Marcus shuddered violently, a strangled sound escaping him. He forced his eyes open, staring up at her, drowning in her. His chest heaved. The killer’s knuckles tightened fractionally on the knife handle. The cicadas fell silent. Only the bubbling water and Chloe’s low, rhythmic moans filled the sudden, waiting quiet. The steam curled. The moonlight gleamed on wet skin and a polished blade.
The steam shifted, momentarily obscuring the killer’s view, leaving only the sounds: Chloe’s sharp gasp, Marcus’s ragged groan ripped from deep in his chest, water sloshing violently against the tile. Her back arched, a taut bowstring against the moon, fingers digging into his shoulders as he thrust up one final, shuddering time. "Oh god, Marcus..." she breathed, her voice dissolving into a sigh that mixed relief and pure, shuddering pleasure.
He held her tight, burying his face against her damp neck, his body rigid then collapsing slack against the tub’s edge. His release pulsed deep within her, a warm counterpoint to the churning hot water. For a long moment, they stayed locked, breathing hard, the only sounds their ragged breaths and the relentless bubble of the jets. Chlorine and sweat hung thick in the humid air.
"Mindblowing," Marcus mumbled against her skin, his voice thick and muffled. His hands slid slowly, possessively, down her slick back. "Seriously. Every damn time."
Chloe chuckled, a low, satisfied sound, and finally shifted, pulling herself off him with a soft sigh. Water cascaded down her body. "Told you holding out was worth it." She splashed water playfully at his chest. "Patience, grasshopper."
"Yeah, yeah," he grinned, swiping water from his eyes, still catching his breath. He watched her stretch, arms overhead, the moon painting her skin silver. "Kinda cold now though, huh?" The night air raised goosebumps on their overheated skin despite the steam.
Chloe shivered dramatically. "Freezing! Hot tub time’s officially over." She hoisted herself onto the tiled edge, water streaming off her. "Shower. Immediately. A scalding one." She grabbed her towel from the nearby lounger, wrapping it around herself.
Marcus hauled himself out, the sudden loss of buoyancy making him stagger slightly on the wet deck. He grabbed his own towel. "Thirsty as hell too. Gonna grab a beer. Want anything?" He scrubbed the towel over his hair.
"Water, please. Bottle in the fridge door." Chloe was already padding towards the sliding glass doors leading into the darkened living room, the towel clutched around her. "Meet you upstairs?" She slid the door open, a rectangle of deeper darkness swallowing her silhouette.
"Yeah, shower shouldn’t take long," Marcus called after her, toweling off briskly. He glanced towards the house, then back at the silent, steaming tub, the quiet yard. He shivered again, this time not just from the cold. The sudden stillness felt... heavy. He shook it off. Just the comedown, he thought, attributing the prickle on his neck to the cool air and fading adrenaline.
Under the oak, the killer’s eyes narrowed fractionally, tracking Marcus’s movement towards the house. The polished blade in his gloved hand remained utterly still. He waited. Listened. The girl’s wet footsteps faded quickly inside. The boy paused at the threshold, silhouetted for a second against the dim interior light bleeding from deeper within the house.
Marcus stepped inside, sliding the glass door shut behind him with a soft thunk. The latch clicked faintly. The backyard plunged into a deeper silence, broken only by the persistent churn of the jacuzzi jets. The steam continued to rise, ghostly in the moonlight.
He waited five more heartbeats. Ten. The only movement was the slow drift of vapor. Both inside. Separate. Vulnerable. The calculation was cold, precise. The boy was heading to the kitchen, isolated. The girl to the shower, naked, defenseless. Water would mask sound. Now.
The killer moved. It wasn't a rush, but a silent, fluid unfolding from the deep shadow. Booted feet, carefully placed, avoided the single creaky deck board he’d mapped earlier. He crossed the damp grass, a dark shape gliding towards the house, his eyes fixed on the sliding door Marcus had just closed. The knife, held low against his thigh, caught no light now. The bubbling water masked the whisper of his passage. He reached the patio, pressed himself flat against the cool stucco wall beside the glass door, listening intently for the sounds within. Then, gloved fingers closed silently around the door handle, testing.