My Killer

Cigarette smoke curls and licks at her frazzled locks, braiding them with a scent of something delicious and sensuous. I watch her sway before me. Her attempts to seduce are abysmal but I smile, my lips sticking to my teeth as I watch each layer removed from her body like onion peels.

Brown skin burns in the soft light and I desperately want to squeeze it between my fingers, feel its texture and warmth. But I stay my course. A gentle breeze lifts the cheap chintz curtains, exposing the street lights and dismal rain sloshing down the streets below. The air is a welcome break from the incense and heady perfume permeating every inch of this tiny room that she and I share. Our breath is mixed in these close quarters, almost tasting each other in its closeness.

Fingers test their boundaries as she snakes herself over my inert body, hoping for a response that will never come. What I want will make her scream – the kind of scream that sends nosy neighbours running and crying into their phones; the kind of scream that makes my skin crawl in delight and sends shivers down my spine. I lick my lips in anticipation. It’s time.

Her flexing muscles gyrate against my lap, working sweat through her armpits and at her temples. She’s ugly when she tries so hard. I snap her pretty little head with a flick before she can cry out. It’s a pity really. Such a waste of that gorgeous skin. Maybe I could take some and keep it for later? Yes. Waste not want not, and all that. Her muscles are still flexing as life flows out of her body. I mount her, feeling the power seep through my skinny body. Eyes once so bold now glaze over in a steady exchange with mine as I tilt my head left to right, a bird sitting on its prey.

Cigarette smoke slithers up the curtains and dances to the rain drops outside. My keepsake is carefully packed away in my briefcase and she is dressed in her best for her discovery later tonight or maybe tomorrow morning. I linger. It’s just that she’s so damn beautiful lying there in her dressing gown with her fingernails painted with matching toes. Those wayward locks are framing her face, exposing fine cheekbones I hadn’t noticed before. The light certainly gives her a mysterious flavour and I can’t resist kissing those luscious pink lips one more time.

With a sigh, I take one last look at the studio flat. The breeze has died down and the rain is no longer beating out its tender pulse. My exit will be observed at this late hour. Risks have to be taken by any doctor visiting his patient after hours. After all, isn’t this part of the service? I can feel my lips sticking to my teeth again so I blow out my cheeks as my gloved fingers trail down her fantastic body. Yes. I must go.

Until my next appointment, I shall have her to enjoy in my thoughts and in my fridge.

 

4 thoughts on “My Killer

  1. Oh my gosh E.De Sousa just this little excerpt kept me reading and reading. Your words tie me in. Your twists and turns, as in The Iron Pendulum, mysteriously keep me reading. Who dunit … can’t be worked out … until you, you decide to unveil! An artiste.

    Liked by 1 person

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