Bone: A Dark Billionaire Romance (With bonus book Exhibit!) by Stella Noir, Aria Frost Page B
Authors: Stella Noir, Aria Frost
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personal items, evidence bags, court notes in huge official boxes. In one section he's set up a movable whiteboard which looks like it's been taken directly from a police station. It's the kind of thing you see in films that shows a map of all the murder locations, the key witnesses and any other crucial information.
Most of their lives are here. I half expect to see Bone himself, rocking away on a chair in the corner, his tongue licking his lips, eager to show me what he has done. Perhaps eager to add me to his collection. As I get closer to the clothes, I see some are blood stained, and others still are torn or cut.
I recognize some as the ones the girls were wearing when they were found. On more than one occasion, Bone dressed his dead girls up and put them on display. He cherished them, for want of a more appropriate word. He idolized them, in life and death, as long as he was able to control it.
"This is", I begin to say. I don't know how to finish, but I need to know. "How?"
Christopher moves over to join me in the center of his basement room. I want to ask, “why here, why not upstairs, why not in a real museum?” but I think part of me is scared of the answer.
Part of me likes the fear it's putting in to me too. If there was enough light to see, if the darkness didn't look like it was alive and ready to swallow me up soon as I let it, there wouldn't be the same effect. These could all be fake for all I know, but displaying them as he has, which is not displaying them at all, makes them all that more real. It's empowering. It's like being in one of the thousands of horror films I've seen.
Christopher's hand on my neck makes me jump. He's close in behind me, pressed against my back.
"Do you like it?" he whispers, his breath hot on my ear. I can feel my skin fizzing. I don't know whether it's fear or excitement, or a bit of both. Am I trapped? Could I leave if I wanted to? Do I want to?
"I love it", I say, wondering whether I'm able to say anything else. "It's incredible. Where did it all come from?"
Christopher runs his hand from my neck across my shoulder and down my arm. There is no way he can't feel how goose-pimpled my skin is. If he stopped holding me, I'd shake. I'd explode into a million pieces. The only thing holding me together is the pressure he's putting on me. I feel the connection like hot patches.
"If I tell you, will you promise to keep it a secret?" he says.
I nod. Like this, my back pressed into his, I can't see the look on his face, but I can imagine it. I tilt my head back. I want him to kiss my neck. I want him to bite it. I want him to release the pressure I can feel building inside me.
"I've known Bone for a very long time", Christopher says.
His lips are on my skin, hot and smooth. Bite me. Fucking bite me. He moves his hand from my shoulder, along the jagged edge of my collar bone, testing it for size, purpose. From there, he moves his hands down my front, trailing them across my skin to the edge of my T-shirt. Onwards. My nipples between his fingers blossom erect. The words are on the tip of my tongue, each one a mercy dance towards it.
Does. He. Know. You?
"Come", Christopher says, breaking away. "I want to show you my favourite part of the collection."
A long time passes before I can move. When I look down, I see my nipples standing taut. My pussy is wet and I want to touch it. I want him to fuck me amongst the forgotten remains of dead women and I feel like Christopher is the kind of person I could tell that too without being judged.
I follow him into the shadows. At the back end of the room, there is a display cabinet. I don't see it until I'm right there in front of it. A hand made of several different bones, isolated on the ledge.
His project.
I gasp for air, but can't get any down. I want to run but can't seem to comprehend how that might be possible. Christopher sees my alarm.
"I want to make the whole thing", he says quickly by way of explanation, "but I can't until
Most of their lives are here. I half expect to see Bone himself, rocking away on a chair in the corner, his tongue licking his lips, eager to show me what he has done. Perhaps eager to add me to his collection. As I get closer to the clothes, I see some are blood stained, and others still are torn or cut.
I recognize some as the ones the girls were wearing when they were found. On more than one occasion, Bone dressed his dead girls up and put them on display. He cherished them, for want of a more appropriate word. He idolized them, in life and death, as long as he was able to control it.
"This is", I begin to say. I don't know how to finish, but I need to know. "How?"
Christopher moves over to join me in the center of his basement room. I want to ask, “why here, why not upstairs, why not in a real museum?” but I think part of me is scared of the answer.
Part of me likes the fear it's putting in to me too. If there was enough light to see, if the darkness didn't look like it was alive and ready to swallow me up soon as I let it, there wouldn't be the same effect. These could all be fake for all I know, but displaying them as he has, which is not displaying them at all, makes them all that more real. It's empowering. It's like being in one of the thousands of horror films I've seen.
Christopher's hand on my neck makes me jump. He's close in behind me, pressed against my back.
"Do you like it?" he whispers, his breath hot on my ear. I can feel my skin fizzing. I don't know whether it's fear or excitement, or a bit of both. Am I trapped? Could I leave if I wanted to? Do I want to?
"I love it", I say, wondering whether I'm able to say anything else. "It's incredible. Where did it all come from?"
Christopher runs his hand from my neck across my shoulder and down my arm. There is no way he can't feel how goose-pimpled my skin is. If he stopped holding me, I'd shake. I'd explode into a million pieces. The only thing holding me together is the pressure he's putting on me. I feel the connection like hot patches.
"If I tell you, will you promise to keep it a secret?" he says.
I nod. Like this, my back pressed into his, I can't see the look on his face, but I can imagine it. I tilt my head back. I want him to kiss my neck. I want him to bite it. I want him to release the pressure I can feel building inside me.
"I've known Bone for a very long time", Christopher says.
His lips are on my skin, hot and smooth. Bite me. Fucking bite me. He moves his hand from my shoulder, along the jagged edge of my collar bone, testing it for size, purpose. From there, he moves his hands down my front, trailing them across my skin to the edge of my T-shirt. Onwards. My nipples between his fingers blossom erect. The words are on the tip of my tongue, each one a mercy dance towards it.
Does. He. Know. You?
"Come", Christopher says, breaking away. "I want to show you my favourite part of the collection."
A long time passes before I can move. When I look down, I see my nipples standing taut. My pussy is wet and I want to touch it. I want him to fuck me amongst the forgotten remains of dead women and I feel like Christopher is the kind of person I could tell that too without being judged.
I follow him into the shadows. At the back end of the room, there is a display cabinet. I don't see it until I'm right there in front of it. A hand made of several different bones, isolated on the ledge.
His project.
I gasp for air, but can't get any down. I want to run but can't seem to comprehend how that might be possible. Christopher sees my alarm.
"I want to make the whole thing", he says quickly by way of explanation, "but I can't until
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