Page 83 of White Noise

My smile sharpens. “Don’t look so surprised, little echo. You like this part too.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“You’re scared.”

Her jaw tightens and I move closer until there’s barely any space left between us, lowering my voice.

“You like not knowing what I’m about to do to you,”

“Fuck you.”

“Mm, You already did.” I smirk, “but don’t worry. You’re about to again.”

Her expression turns murderous.

Fuck I like her like this.

“Jesus do you ever fucking shut up?”

I lung forward, my hand snapping around her throat—not to choke her, but to anchor her. I slam her back against the desk, the impact jarring her breath out in a sharp gasp.

Before she can even blink, I’m looping the heavy-gauge cable around her wrists, cinching them tight against the metal frame of the desk.

I don't ask, because I don’t fucking care.

I take her space, her breath, all in one fluid motion.

“You want me to stop talking?” I growl, my voice vibrating against her skin, a low-frequency hum that makes her teeth ache. “Fine. Let’s see how you handle the noise.”

I reach for the console, flicking a series of switches.

Around us, the monitors scream to life. A dozen different angles of the room flood the screens, some delayed by a few seconds, some distorted into jagged, glitching smears of color.

Saga is suddenly surrounded by herself.

She sees her own wide eyes, her own trembling thighs, her own chest heaving in a dozen different frames, all reflecting the same terror and hunger.

I take the live wire and press the copper end against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

I don't push it in yet; I just let the static hum against her, the air smelling of ozone and burnt sugar.

“You keep pushing like there's some human part of me that will care.” I snap, “You’re nothing but fucking hardware to me, little echo,” I purr, my eyes tracking the way her pupils dilate until the iris is almost gone. “And I’m just finding the right setting to make you scream.”

I send a low-voltage pulse through the wire.

It’s a sharp, biting snap of current.

“Oh God—fuck, fuck⁠—”

Saga’s hips jerk violently, her back arching off the desk as a strangled cry rips from her throat. I don't pull away. I keep the contact steady, modulating the frequency, watching the way her skin ripples under the current.

“Shit. Shit—fuck.”

“Does that feel like a choice, Saga?” I sneer, leaning in so my lips graze her ear. “Your brain is trying to tell you to fight, but your nerves? Your nerves are already bowing down to me. You're just a circuit, and I'm the one flipping the pretty little switch.”

I shift the frequency to a low, thrumming vibration, a deep, subsonic pulse that doesn't burn, but resonates deep in her pelvic floor. Her thighs tense, clamping shut instinctively, her pussy clenching in a desperate, rhythmic attempt to grip the air.

“I swear to God, Silas⁠—”