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I desperately need to hold on to something, so I cling to his gaze. He lets me. He doesn’t close his eyes or hide his pleasure. He gives it to me truthfully. He shows me the rawness that reflects in my body.
True to his word, he’s there for me when my body bows and the climax tears me apart. I turn warm inside. He fills me up with his release, pumping as if he’s set on making me take every drop. I’m drowning in his heat, his smell, and the angry undercurrent that’s always present between us, especially during his release. I’m high on endorphins, floating in a euphoric space. Vaguely, I’m aware of him taking something from his pocket and pushing it against my neck. The sharp prick of a needle registers too late.
My vision swims, and I start to drift away. Straining my neck, I force my head up and desperately try to claw my way through the haze. I try to hold on to that ice-green stare with all my might, but it slips out of my reach.
His words are soft, spoken in Russian. “Let go, Minochka.”
The beautiful sound of his mother tongue strokes over my senses, as does the term of endearment.
Poisonous words.
Poison seems fitting.
He catches my head when my neck fails to support the weight.
He’s still inside me when I drag in a final, laborious breath. The last word I speak when I blow out that breath is his name.
The End
