Hunting by desire, Bound by love

The sound came first. A wet, steady slapping of skin on skin. It filled the quiet interior of the SUV. Each thrust pushed her firmly into the cool leather of the passenger seat. The whole vehicle rocked on its shocks in a gentle, persistent rhythm, issuing a soft, metallic creak with every movement. Hank was on top of her, his weight solid and familiar. His breath came in hot, fast puffs against the side of her neck while his big hands, rough from work, held her hips in a tight, possessive grip. He was strong, and he used all of that strength. It wasn't about intimacy. It was about completion. Jade's mind was elsewhere. It had drifted up near the roof liner of the car, a detached observer. Her eyes were open, but unfocused, staring at a greasy smudge on the window glass. She could register the physical sensations:the pressure, the movement, the heat but they were just data. For her, the experience was a simple list of facts. Fact: The dashboard clock glowed 7:05 PM. Fact: The pine-scented air freshener dangling from the rearview was overwhelmingly strong. Fact: The internal seam of her simple black dress was pressed uncomfortably into her shoulder blade. Fact: The Hunger, that low, persistent ache that had been coiled in her gut all afternoon, was finally beginning to recede. Hank moved with a determined, athletic rhythm. In. Out. Deep. Hard. There was a brutal, unadorned efficiency to it. "Yeah," he muttered, his voice a husky grunt near her ear. "You like that?" He wasn't really asking her. He was talking to himself, narrating his own performance. He wanted to be her favorite, the best. He didn't understand that she didn't have favorites. She had a schedule. He was a reliable provider on it. His extra effort was noted, but it wasn't necessary. All that was truly necessary was that he didn't stop. Jade let her gaze drift over his laboring shoulder, out through the windshield. The parking lot behind the big-box gym was nearly empty at this hour. One streetlight buzzed overhead, its orange light casting long, distorted shadows. A lone shopping cart stood abandoned near a dumpster. She focused on the cart's wire grid. She began to match the count in her head to the car's gentle creaking. Creak. Twenty-two. Creak. Twenty-three. Inside her, a process was reaching its conclusion. The Hunger was not an emotion. It was a physical condition. A tight, hot wire of need buzzing in her core, demanding to be grounded. This mechanical coupling was the only reliable circuit breaker. Each movement bled a little more of the current away. It wasn't pleasure. It was pure relief. Hank's rhythm hitched. His breathing grew ragged, losing its pattern. His thrusts became faster, shallower, more desperate. "I'm gonna… I'm gonna…" he choked out, the sentence dying in a gasp. She didn't answer. She simply waited. This was the final phase. With a sharp, stifled cry, he drove into her one last time and held there, his entire body locking up, trembling for a handful of seconds. She felt the internal rush of his finish. That was the signal. The definitive click of a lock opening. The gnawing ache of The Hunger vanished instantly . Like a switch being flipped from ON to OFF and a cool calm spread through her veins, quieting everything. He collapsed on top of her, let out a long sigh and pulled away. The air where he had been felt abruptly cold. He patted her hip twice. Tap. Tap. A habitual gesture. A job well done. "Okay," he rasped, already fumbling for his clothes. "Wow. Okay, then." Jade sat up slowly. Her body felt used. Drained. Cleansed. She smoothed her dress and looked at the clock. 7:11 PM. Eight minutes. She reached for her purse on the floor mat. "So," Hank said, zipping his jeans. His tone was bright, expectant. "That was good, right? Felt pretty strong." He was fishing for a compliment, for affirmation. "It was satisfactory," Jade said. Her voice was flat, devoid of inflection. A clinical assessment. "Your consistency is appreciated." He blinked, the word 'satisfactory' landing with a dull thud. But he nodded. A deal was a deal. "Next month? Same time, same place?" He ventured, a hint of hope in his voice. "Maybe we could get a room or something. Make a night of it." "This location is discreet and free" she said, pushing the car door open. The cool night air rushed in washing away the thick smells of sweat and s*x. "I will send a confirmation text as usual." She didn't wait for his reply. She stepped out onto the asphalt. Her legs were steady and The Hunger was quiet. For now. "Take it easy," Hank called after her. She shut the door with a solid, final thump. She turned and walked across the cracked pavement. She heard the sounds of his departure: the engine turning over, the crunch of gravel under tires as he drove away. Then, silence. Jade paused beneath the streetlight and drew a slow, deep breath. One appointment concluded. Two remained. Roger at 10:30. Jose at 1:00 AM. It was a full night, but it was meticulously planned. The system was functioning. She walked to her own car, a plain silver sedan parked three rows over. She got in. The interior was impeccably clean and smelled of nothing at all. She started the engine but didn't pull out. First, the log. She took her phone and opened the notes application. The file was titled "Maintenance Schedule." Her thumbs tapped continuously. Log: Day 1, Cycle 28. Subject: Hank. Start: 7:03 PM. End: 7:11 PM. Duration: 8 minutes. Location: Subject's vehicle. Notes: Predictable performance. Primary objective achieved. No issues. Efficiency: Satisfactory. She saved the note. She caught her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her face was pale, composed. Her dark hair was still secured in its neat, low bun. Her lipstick was unmoved. She looked ordinary. Unremarkable. Like a woman who had just finished a late meeting not a tryst. This was the rhythm of her life. For ten days each month, her existence narrowed to this. A series of clandestine appointments to sate a condition she had not chosen. She called it The Hunger. It woke inside her like a sleeping creature and upon waking, it demanded to be fed. Three times a day. Every day. For the duration. Neglect was not an option. If she failed to feed it, the pain became excruciating. She had learned, through early and brutal experience, never to let it reach that point. So she had built The System. The System was about control. It was about managing the wild, carnal demand with sterile and detached s*x. She drove home and took a shower as hot as she could tolerate. She had scrubbed her skin with a fragrance-free soap. Afterward, she had applied an unscented moisturizer. She never wore perfume. Scents were links to memory. Memories were vulnerabilities. Next, the uniform. Simple, black cotton underwear. The plain black dress with the back zipper. It was not designed to entice; it was designed for easy access and removal. It was functional wear. Then, she had reviewed the roster on her tablet. Hank. Roger. Jose. Three men, selected over two years through deliberate screening. They were not lovers. They were service providers. They performed a specific function. In exchange, she offered absolute discretion and punctuality. It was a straightforward transaction. They knew nothing of The Hunger. They believed she was simply a lonely woman with uncomplicated physical needs and a preference for routine. It was an effective system. It sustained her. It protected her. It insulated her from feeling. Now, the first part of the night was complete. She had two hours and nineteen minutes before Roger. She needed to rest before the next engagement. She picked up her phone to reach out to Roger. She opened the secure messaging application used exclusively for this purpose. Three threads: H, R, J. She tapped R for Roger. Her last sent message read: Confirmation for 10:30 PM. The Luxe Motel, room 411. Usual terms. He had replied: See you then. All set. Her fingers began to type a routine verification: Preparing for 10:30. Please confirm status. But before she could send it, a new message from Roger appeared on the screen. A cold stillness settled in her veins. The message was brief. Roger: Something came up. Can't make it tonight. Sorry. Jade stared at the words. Can't make it tonight. Roger did not cancel. He was the most reliable of the three. He had never canceled, not once in 18 months. The knot below her ribs tightened. She checked the time. 7:23 PM. The Hunger would reawaken approximately at 9:30 PM. She had just over two hours to source a replacement. A new variable. A stranger. Introducing a stranger was a risk. It meant unpredictability. Potential danger. Someone not vetted, not bound by the established rules of the transaction. But The System's core directive was clear: feed The Hunger on schedule. No excuses. Her fingers felt cool against the phone's screen. She drew a deep breath. She had to look for alternatives. She went through a list of men she had met once catalogued as potential reserves. Liam. He had been agreeable, eager. She found Liam's contact and pressed call. It rang once, twice. Then, a flat, automated female voice. "The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again." A thin line of cold traced its way down her spine. She tried the next backup, Marcus. The call connected but immediately went to a generic voicemail greeting. The mailbox was full. The cold feeling in her chest deepened, solidifying into a heavy weight. Something was off. Her phone buzzed in her hand, a sharp vibration against her palm. A new message notification. It was from Jose. Her heart gave a single, hard knock against her ribs. Jose was not scheduled to make contact until after 1:00 AM. She opened the message. Jose: Hola Jade! Wonderful news! A gallery in Santa Fe bought the entire new series. I am on a plane tonight to an artist residency for the next two months! So sorry about tonight. We will celebrate when I return! The words seemed to blur on the screen. On a plane tonight. Two months. Jose. Unavailable. Hank was done and dismissed for the cycle. Roger had canceled. Jose was gone. All three. On the very first night. The System wasn't experiencing a minor glitch. It was undergoing a total failure. The Hunger would return in two hours and seven minutes. And she had no providers. No backups. Her hands began to shake and her phone slipped from her fingers, landing with a clatter on the floor. For the first time in years, Jade felt true, raw panic. A wild, screaming in her head drowned out all the logic. She was hungry and she had nothing to eat. The hunter was suddenly prey.