Three hours, fifty-seven minutes and twelve seconds. That is how long I’ve been staring at the clock, waiting for the creak of the motel room door to announce Dexter is back. The birds have chirped; the sun has begun its rise, yet I’ve not slept a wink.

My woozy head isn’t the only thing to blame for my lack of sleep; it is being without him, my protector, the man who killed to keep me safe.

It was only when inspecting the bruise circling my neck did the reason for Dexter’s psychosis come to light. He wasn’t mad I turned him down before attacking him with my blade. He was dispersing the energy that blazes through your veins any time you kill.

It took me days to come down from the high I felt when my father sucked in his last breath. The adrenaline that arrived with his death was merciless. So much strength surged through me, I was able to hang him from the second story beam in our barn. I didn’t want his death to look like a suicide. I wanted him to hang like the rodents in the western movies he watched. He said they were cowards, and a hanging was too upstanding for them. Since he never expressed a more heinous way to die, I had no choice but to hang him. I had considered burying him with my mother, but even with bugs replacing her eyes, she looked peaceful, so I didn’t want to disturb her. Especially not with him.

My muscles ached for days, but the visual of him hanging lifeless in the barn where he had buried my mother was beautiful. Nearly as wondrous as the blood splattered on the rim of Dexter’s hat.

Dexter stood up for me.

He killed a man for me.

And what did I do to thank him? I treated him like every other vile man I’ve crossed paths with in my life.

I thought Dexter wanted to use and abuse me. I was wrong.

When I tried to hurt Nick’s baby, he retaliated with as much violence. The fumes from the cloth held over my mouth burned my airways, but it was nothing compared to the effect of Nick’s betrayal on my heart. He told the police I wasn’t his girlfriend. He begged the judge to issue a restraining order so I had to stay away from him. He acted like he hated me when all I had ever done was love him. If that wasn’t bad enough, he sent me far, far away, to a place more interested in medicating me than helping me.

Dexter would never do that. He threw away my pills to ensure my thoughts remain lucid and clear. He wants me to make my own decisions. He might even possibly love me.

My assumptions weaken when a giggle sounds through my ears. It isn’t the big, vociferous laugh I’ve grown accustomed to the past two days. It is dainty and cute, similar to a giggle a female would make when a prickly chin is dragged down her neck.

With my heart pounding in my ears, I turn toward the patter of steps. Thick curtains are drawn across the window, blocking out the early morning sun, but it isn’t dark enough for me to miss a visual a thousand years won’t wrench from my mind.

Dexter isn’t alone. He has a pretty brunette in his arms, and his tongue is down her throat.

I try to look away, but one image stops me before I get too far: Dexter’s wintry blue eyes. He watches me over the brunette’s silky mane, his bloodshot eyes locked with mine. His gaze is so penetrating, my mouth feels every lick of his tongue.

A tingling sensation builds low in my belly when he steps closer, bringing his eyes level to mine. I stare at him with an equal amount of shock and disgust. The image of him kissing another woman should fill me with rage, but unlike when I watched Nick and Jenni, I’m not seeing two people. I’m only seeing one: Dexter.

He is kissing her, but he is tasting me. He samples my mouth with long, devoted licks and vicious bites. Her purrs are barely heard over my throaty moans. The sensation ripping through my body is intoxicating, making my head as woozy as the red drink I consumed with dinner. I am hot, sweaty, and utterly breathless.

When Dexter’s guest switches her attention to dragging his shirt over his head, Dexter’s eyes drop to my manically thrusting chest. His chest puffs when he notices I am sleeping naked as requested. I even stripped the mattress of bedding to ensure there wasn’t a thing between us.

The ache of my nipples doubles when Dexter’s tongue darts out to replenish his kiss-swollen mouth. He knows the sharp points at the end of my perky breasts are for him. He is aware I’m willing, ready, and able. He just needs to push her away, to choose me over her.

Realizing she has competition, Dexter’s guest doesn’t stop at his shirt. She falls to her knees before her hands dart to his belt. Anger roars through my body when she rubs her palm along his erection straining his zipper. She is mistaking his excitement as a consequence of kissing her.

It’s not. It’s for me. I did that to him. She’s just an obstacle—one I plan to get rid of.

When Dexter’s penis leaps from his boxers, I shoot my eyes to the side. I hate that I am missing out on seeing the veins pulsating in his penis, but I can’t stand watching the brunette’s mouth create an O before she narrows toward his glistening tip. It fills my head with horrible, depraved thoughts and has my hand sneaking across the mattress in search of my razor.

My attention is only diverted for a second. The slump of a body on the mattress secures my utmost devotion faster than lightning brightening a black sky. Unfortunately, the crash wasn’t Dexter pushing the brunette off him; it was from him dumping her onto the bed I’m sitting on.

She giggles, the alcohol leaking from her pores explaining her immaturity. She’s drunker than my daddy every Fourth of July.

Eager to get the party started, her hands dart up to the buttons of her shirt. Even though I hate her with every fiber of my being, my anger isn’t as palpable as it could be. Her extremely generous breasts are displayed in their full glory, yet Dexter’s attention remains on me.

His cock thickens with every second we spend staring at each other. It is as if she isn’t even in the room. It is just me and him, one criminally insane patient with another.

I want to say we use our time well, communicating nonverbally, but that isn’t the case. Dexter’s eyes are too glazed to convey his thoughts, and the excessive adrenaline from his adventurous night is still apparent.

I lose Dexter’s gaze when the brunette scoots up the bed to ease her jeans down her thighs. I clamber away, wanting to ensure not an inch of her skin touches mine. She’s pretty, and her scarcely covered body increases the throb of my pulse, but that’s because I’m angry. . . isn’t it?

Before my back can brace the headboard—or my head can work through half the confusion bombarding me—Dexter hooks my ankle and drags me down the mattress. The brunette startles as much as I do when my naked breast grazes her forearm.

“Holy Mary, Mother of Joseph!” she squeals in fright before darting off the bed.

Unlike me, Dexter lets her escape. He’s too busy biting behind my knee to voice an opinion on her abrupt exit. From the way the brunette squirms on the spot, you’d swear she was the one enduring the bite, lick, suck routine Dexter is doing to my skin. His bite is painful, but with each one bringing him closer to my throbbing sex, I’ll happily accept the tenderness.

A grunt of frustration rolls up my chest when he floats past an area weeping with want. He chuckles against my skin, the flutters of his breath on my stomach doubling my heightened state.

When the brunette’s eyes collide with mine for the quickest second, I nudge my head to the door, giving her marching orders. She ignores me, too mesmerized by the image of Dexter’s tongue circling my nipple to move.

I can’t blame her. The feeling of him suckling my hardened bud is more phenomenal than anything I’ve ever felt. Even being scrutinized by the watchful eyes of the brunette doesn’t dampen my excitement. The fire brewing low in my gut intensifies with every graze of Dexter’s teeth and marvelous swirl of his tongue.

After devouring my left nipple with as much eagerness as he bestowed on my right, Dexter raises his eyes to mine. They are even glassier up close. They aren’t the usual bloodshot eyes you expect a drunk man to have. They are hazier. Unhinged. Devastatingly beautiful.

The intensity in his eyes overwhelms me when he brings them to within an inch of my face. He rests his forehead against mine, our breathing intimately shared. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares endlessly, frying my brain more effectively than the pills he removed from my stomach earlier.

I want to say something. I want to express the crazy sensation annihilating any thoughts that don’t include him, but no matter how hard I fight my lips to move, not a sound escapes them.

Regrettably, the brunette doesn’t suffer the same fate as me. “Oh,” she purrs, breaking an intimate connection that shouldn’t be broken by a third party. “When you said you wanted to play a game, I didn’t realize you meant this.”

Her eyes rake over our practically conjoined bodies, only stopping when she reaches Dexter’s jeans, which are huddled around his ankles. “I like her, Dex. She’s real pretty.”

My eyes snap to the unnamed female. Her shortening of Dexter’s name annoys the shit out of me, but not as much as her sneaky steps toward our bed. One, she is not Dexter’s friend, so she has no right to give him cute little nicknames. And two, my inability to share was one of the reasons I was expelled from school—that and the fact I set a girl’s hair on fire.

When the dark-haired lady rakes her nails across the muscles in Dexter’s back, I smack her in the hip with my foot. She laughs, assuming I’m being funny. I’m not. If Dexter’s naked body wasn’t weighing down my limbs, I’d remove her from my room with one of the many wicked thoughts streaming through my head. She won’t be laughing then.

Her teeth rake her lower lip as she connects her eyes with mine. Her stare fills me with anger. I know the look she is giving me. I know the ghastly ideas tainting her mind. They make me want to slit her throat.

With a smile of a woman unworried about her safety, her hands continue their exploration of Dexter’s body. She drags them up his splayed thighs before dipping them ever so slightly when she reaches his backside.

I hiss at her in warning. She stupidly ignores me. It is a bad move on her behalf. The last woman who ignored me ended up with thirteen stitches in her scalp.

“Hey, Dex?” She sounds like a whiny child disappointed she lost her favorite toy. “Are you going to share?”

Dexter smiles an evil grin. . . or is it an angry one? I haven’t learned all his smiles yet, so I can’t be sure. “Sorry. Can’t. This one needs to stay pure.” His last sentence is delivered via a growl. “If she didn’t, I’d already be inside her.”

Before I can seek further clarification, Dexter rolls off me. Now I want to kill everything and everyone.

I haven’t worked through one tenth of my anger when the brunette murmurs, “What if I promise to be gentle? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetie?” The sheer dishonesty in her tone secures my utmost attention. I don’t know this lady, but I do know she is a liar. “I’ll fuck you nice and gentle while Dex fucks me hard and fast. How does that sound to you?”

I growl at her, baring teeth. Ignorant of the fury reddening my cheeks, she scrapes her nails up my thigh. My leg instinctively kicks out, partly in anger, partly due to natural reflexes.

A pained groan rolls up her chest when my foot smacks into her nose. My hit wasn’t an accident, but that’s the defense I take when she roars, “What the fuck?! Do you have any idea how much my nose cost?”

She glares at me over her pencil-thin nose that isn’t as pretty as it was moments ago. Fury ignites in her slit gaze when she spots the curl of my lips. “You did that on purpose.”

Angered by my half-hearted shrug, she takes a page from Dexter’s book by gripping my ankle and dragging me down the bed. “I’ll show you what I think of stuck-up bitches!”

Her clutch on my leg barely budges me an inch. . .

My foot, on the other hand, it has perfect aim.

“Argh!” she screams in a grunt when my kick to her chest sends her sailing across the room.

She lands on the ground with a thud, her angry roar barely heard over Dexter’s chuckle. He appears entertained by the show, as if this was his plan all along.

Dexter’s laughter doesn’t linger for long. The brunette’s angry shout nips it in the bud quickly. “You stupid bitch! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“What did you call her?!” Dexter yells, his furious tone launching my heart into my throat.

Blind to the absolute fury radiating out of Dexter, the brunette stands to her feet, rolls her shoulders, locks her slit gaze with mine, then sneers, “I called her a bitch.”

“Not that part, the bit before it.” Dexter stands to his full height. It is even more impressive when he’s fuming in anger. “The ‘S’ word. The one that implies you think you’re better than her?”

The brunette laughs. “Puh-leeze. I know I am better than her. She grunts like an animal, for crying out loud.”

“She’s mute,” Dexter informs her, shocking me with the understanding in his voice.

The snarky bitch drops her brown eyes to mine. The mock in them boils my blood. “You’re mute.” She’s not asking a question; she’s taunting me. “Aww, sweetie. Are you okay? Did naughty men do really bad things to you that turned your brain to mush?” She talks to me like I’m a child, goading me in the same manner the girls at my school did when my mother arrived to pick me up without her clothes. “Is that why you’re stupid? Did your daddy play the banjo on your vag—”

Her ridicule is stopped when Dexter’s hand flies wildly through the air. He backhands her so hard, she crashes into the wall separating our room from the one next door. Her hand darts up to cradle her reddening cheek as she slumps to the ground.

I watch in reverence when Dexter bridges the gap between them, his steps drawn out and dangerous. “There you go with that word again.”

Pain erupts in her eyes when Dexter fists her hair. He drags her to my side of the bed, his clutch strengthening with every painful howl she releases. The floor space of our room is minimal, but I’m certain it feels like being dragged down a football field to the brunette.

When they stop in front of me, Dexter yanks her head back, forcing her eyes to align with mine. “Tell her you’re sorry.” He barks his order so violently, the window in our room rattles.

The brunette’s split lip quivers, but not a peep seeps from her mouth.

“Tell her you’re sorry!” Dexter roars, maddened by her delay.

“I-I-I’m sorry,” she stammers as fresh tears leak from her eyes.

The blood streaking her teeth matches the anger thundering through Dexter’s body. He is colored with rage, the clenching and unclenching of his fist as mesmerizing as his naked form.

“Say it again,” Dexter demands, unsatisfied with her pathetic attempt at an apology. “If it doesn’t sound sincere this time, I’ll remove your tongue with my teeth.”

Her throat works hard to swallow at the same time my body tightens with excitement.

“I’m sorry. S-s-so sorry.” The tear gliding down her purplish cheek heightens the sincerity in her tone.

I stop watching a blob of moisture slip off her quivering jaw when Dexter connects his eyes with mine. “Happy?”

His top lip twitches when I nod my head. He was hoping I’d say no. I should just to teach her a lesson, but I’m not a monster. She’ll pay for her sins soon enough. If the blackness filling Dexter’s eyes is anything to go off, it will be sooner than expected.

“Get dressed.” Dexter jerks his head to the shirt the brunette discarded in a hurry only minutes ago.

He growls my name when I shake my head, refusing his request. I am not wearing her clothes! His vicious rumble simpers to a purr when I slip off the bed and head for the bathroom to gather the outfit I was wearing earlier. Some of his simmer is from me offering an alternative to his suggestion, but most of it is from my budded nipples scraping his forearm when I slipped by.

When I return to the room dressed in a baggy white tee and knee-high socks, Dexter tosses a set of keys into my chest. “Wait for me in the car.”

The brunette squeaks out a sob, hearing the words Dexter didn’t express as loudly as I did. She is crouched on the ground next to his feet, his grip on her hair enough to keep her from speaking. If she hadn’t degraded me, I may have felt sorry for her. It is a pity empathy was the first thing my father stripped from me when my mother died.

After gathering my meager possessions, I head for the door. Before I lower the handle, Dexter calls my name. “I’m going to need that.”

He doesn’t need to say what he is referring to. The dip in his tone tells me everything I need to know.

When I spin around to face him, the brunette shakes uncontrollably. Plea after plea spills from her mouth as I slowly pace back toward them. I’m glad she’s found her voice again, but it’s a little too late for clemency. She was mean to me. Dexter is going to ensure it will never happen again.

“Good girl. Now go wait for me in the car,” Dexter suggests when I hand him the razor clutched in my hand. His voice isn’t the one he used on the brunette. This is a special voice, one he’ll only use on me from here on out.

The brunette’s pleas amplify with every step I take to the door, but by the time I cross the threshold, there’s nothing but silence. It is a beautiful noise when you have several voices screaming for attention at once.