Jesus.

When I installed the monitoring equipment at the clinic, I didn’t expect to stumble upon something like this.

This is a landmine I’m stepping on by accident. This is a nuclear bomb.

It’s not clear yet if it’s going to blow me into pieces, though. I hope it won’t.

But it’s not like I have a choice. There’s no time to think. I have to jump into action now.

I lean forward, closer to my computer screen.

There’s no mistaking it. That’s her. She has a quarter-sized birthmark at the top of her left thigh, and a dark spot at the very top of her lower lips, right on the hood of her clit.

I remember because I must’ve had my face on that pussy for a solid half hour. She tasted so sweet. Also, with her spread on my table like that, I didn’t even have to strain my neck to eat her out.

No doubt about it. That’s Sarah on the screen—her dainty feet, her long legs, her flared hips, her perky tits, and her seductive, full lips. I can’t see the part of her face above those lips, but it’s like I’m staring at Clark Kent’s dumb glasses and wondering, why the fuck haven’t people realized you’re Superman yet?

Holy fucking. . .  is she stupid? Why would she put herself at risk like that?

As I pull away from the bright screen, my cock stirs in my boxers, despite the storm raging in my chest.

What the fuck is this?

Am I concerned for a friend’s sister? Am I lusting after an old lover? Am I exhilarated to find a kindred spirit, a fellow broken soul, a damaged, beautiful body for me to ruin?

Yes, yes, and yes.

Talk about confusing.

My heart pounds as hard as it did when I was in the middle of my run. My dick pulses to the same rhythm.

I re-read the text that accompanies the pictures Sarah’s posted.

Sarah’s pretty as a doll, but that’s not what she means here. Not on a site called “KinkChat.”

If that username leaves any doubt, the next couple of lines offer some clarification.

Blood rushes to my cock, making it twitch and strain against cotton. Keeping the monster inside me caged was easy when Peter was still around and Sarah was living in the city. Now that he’s gone, and I find out she needs a master, my self-control is quickly eroding.

I imagine her kneeling in front of me, my fist in her hair while I fuck her face. Or maybe I’d bend her over and fuck her in the ass while she stares at her own reflection in a mirror, confronting her shame. I could also tie her up to my bed posts and repeatedly tease her to the brink of orgasm before leaving her alone, frustrated and helpless.

I can almost hear her begging me to make her come, her voice soaked with desire and desperation.

So many things I could do with a girl—no, a woman—like Sarah.

But . . . no. No. I can’t.

I promised Peter I’d take care of her. And I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean in that way.

At least she’s smart enough not to post her location. With the kind of pictures she’s posted, I’m sure she gets messages from all over the country anyway.

My chest burns, but not the kind I get when I really exert myself during a run. It’s blazing hot, and it makes me want to grab my computer monitor and smash it against the floor. I want to destroy those pictures—but not before I save them to my own memory. I want her nakedness for myself.

What the fuck am I thinking? What is wrong with me?

That’s not the plan. The plan is to keep an eye on her until I make sure Peter’s secret is safe.

I read on.

How the fuck am I supposed to just stay still and do nothing when she posts something like that on the Internet for the whole world to see? That’s a literal invitation for any random Joe not just to fuck her, but to fuck her up.

I can’t pretend my outrage has a noble cause, though, because my cock is hard as stone. It’s tenting the front of my boxers.

I want her for myself.

But that wouldn’t be right. The depths of depravity inside me . . . I can’t do those things to Sarah. She says she wants it now, but what if she changes her mind? What if I push her so far over the edge that I permanently damage something inside her?

Sure, maybe it’ll be fine, but what if it won’t?

If I were to inflict that kind of pain on Sarah, I wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt. Peter’s ghost would haunt me for the rest of my life.

Still, I can’t let her do this, can I? It’s dangerous. She could meet an axe murderer. Or more likely, she could meet a sadistic master who goes too far—that’s almost just as bad.

I can’t just sit by and watch while the pale paws of sedentary Internet weirdos dirty her up, can I?

I can stop Sarah. Peter would’ve wanted me to do that.

A cynical voice inside me accuses, you’re just jealous because you can’t have her all to yourself.

Well, maybe so. But this counts as taking care of Sarah, right? That was what Peter wanted. He wrote it down and everything.

Yes.

I’ll do this.

I sit upright and grab the mouse, then click the “Private Message” button.

Oh, little Sarah Ellis. Looks like you’re all grown up. If only we could play some adult games together, doll.