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If Zara had made this all up, it indicated a deep psychosis, and if she didn’t...
It was plausible that some of this was real, that all of it could be real. That somebody was playing cat and mouse.
“Not your case,” I whispered. “You’re just here for the knife.”
And information.
AND TO FUCK AND FLAY.
Jesus Christ, where did that come from? I pushed the heel of my hand against my forehead, the pressure seeming to ease the ache that had flared up with the thought.
Answers. I needed answers. All I had was a conundrum and her shopping list—milk,breadandsee Chester.
I walked back to her bedroom and stared at her through the slit in the door.
I reached down and adjusted my cock to ease the uncomfortable tightness.
Frustrated, I scrubbed my hands through my hair.
I needed to question her.
I really did.
A wicked tension prickled through me as I rose.
Slowly I pressed open the ajar door to her bedroom.
I needed the knife.
And her. Both.
They were linked. One without the other was useless.
Zara lay sprawled on her stomach on top of the quilt, her soft sighs audible over the distant traffic. To my right was a window. A streetlight flickered and flared, penetrating the flimsy curtain, and raked brightness over the bed.
The filter on my night-vision cut in and I took them off.
I almost swore, but my breath had already caught.
Seeing her like this, unaware.
The curtain-sifted light painted her in hues of pastel and gray.
She was naked, barring the pink underwear and a matching bra.
In other words, not naked, I corrected myself.
Underwear counted.
Jeez though, the shape of her pussy showed in every possible curve and dip. The side of her breast bulged against the material’s edge and threatened to spill from the cup. The color black would’ve concealed more. I’d not imagined her to be into pink but was happy with pink. The cheeks of her ass swelled in two perfect half-globes. They were bastions a man could leave a mark on, flesh placed to take the force of his thrusts. One finger slid along the crotch of her underwear, and an intruder could be inside her.
I found I was breathing in time with her, though harder as I hungered for carnal things.
Her eyes were shut, her lashes long and natural. Her dark hair cascaded over her upper back and neck. If I shifted it aside, would I find my mark on her nape?
The wriggling black.
The red tide in my veins after she wrestled and kicked a man to the ground.
