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I count to ten because I don’t mind a challenge, before I take my gun out and shoot. Bullseye. I never miss. He topples. I stretch my neck, noticing the trees and bushes are covering his body. Perfect. Then she won’t see a thing but now I have a major problem on my hands. And that’ll be that I have to convince the girl I’m more than just a terminator, which I don’t how to do. Viciousness and not romance is what I’m used to.
Grinding my jaw, I pick up her purse, going through it and I absorb all the information I can absorb. She likes fruity gum, doesn’t carry cash and her keychain has a white, little heart at the end. Taking out her phone, I remove the sim card and crush it between my fingers just in case anyone would think of tracking her. Her life is now in my hands, I’m responsible for her now and I feel a stirring in my body.
Knocking on the door, I try to gently rasp, “You can come out now.”
She whimpers in response.
I open the door and our eyes lock. It feels like I’m freefalling and like I’ll keep on falling until she cries out an enough. I feel all my power sip from me and wrap around her, coil around her in dedication.
I’m pissed off at the situation but at the same my desire for the girl has me worked up to a degree I didn’t even know I had. She’s hijacked me, short-circuited a man like me, using that tempting face of hers and those curves that drip with encouragement for male self-indulgence. I want to know her name, want to taste it in my mouth and watch her when she tastes mine. When she whines, moans and sighs Axe over and over again because I mean something to her.
I want her bouncing on my pillows, lying in my bed and I already know it’ll blow my mind. Girls like her are untouchable to men like me. They’re fine things hanging on pretty shelves behind glass with a sign below that says, too fragile for your usage. But I do want to use her, massage her limbs, see her twist and warm in my hands and arch into my touch with need.
When I take a step into the bathroom, she takes a startled step back, bumping into the bathtub and she wraps her arms around her. What’s this? Maybe she’s terrified she’ll run into the corpse and I try to give her a gentle smile but her eyes cautiously widen.
“It’s okay,” I say in a low tone, reaching my hand out. “You’re okay.” She gingerly stares at my hand and I frown. It’s not dirty but maybe she thinks it is and I brush off my palm against my pants before holding it out again. When she still hesitates, I impatiently move my fingers in a come here motion and her hand shoots out fast and then its mine. Hell, I love the feel of her, like silk and velvet and fucking fairy dust or something.
I want to put my mouth on her and suck her in. Suck on her so bad like the little strawberry that she is until I have her sweet juice running down my chin.
“Come on, there you go,” I murmur when she takes a small step forward and I figure she’s shaken after what just happened. “That’s it, just one more...,” I encourage and something flashes on her face. She takes a clumsy step forward, almost like a sprint but I seize her, clasping her to me and for the first time in my life I feel peace, both in my body and my heart. It’s rare, so rare that I almost panic at the thought of losing her.
But she’s trembling and I can feel her heart beat.
“Did you stumble?” I ask, reining myself in so as to not shove my whole face into her hair and breathe in all that red. She smells like desire and warmth, like passionfruit and she carefully nods. “Don’t worry, I’ll always catch you,” I assure her and she turns to me, looking like she has something to say but then she goes silent and averts her face. Clasping her hand again, I lead her out of the bathroom, not liking how much distance she’s putting between us. Her arm is almost completely stretched out and it makes me frown.
Doesn’t that cause a strain on her elbow?
I snatch her closer to me and she falls into me, letting out a low yelp and her breasts brush against my body. I choke down a growl.
“Here should be fine,” I say, after opening up a door that looks like an office. There’s a couch, a table and a couple of chairs which suits me since I can’t have her anywhere near a bed in this house. It kills me knowing that she slept in the same bed as the man I just murdered. “Sit down,” I say a little brusquely, putting her down on a chair and she stares up at me.
Her breathing is rapid, her throat tinting pink from the heat that’s flushing her body. She was warm when I held her, mind-blowingly warm and soft. Perfection like a perfection I’ve never known before. I thought perfection was killing someone by placing the knife right on the vein and doing it quickly, thought it was squeezing just the right point on someone’s throat to choke them out but I’ve been wrong.
Those things, they were a...lie. But she, this girl in front of me is truth, light...peace.
Straightening my shoulders, I rasp. “You’re angry with me.” She blinks, craning her neck to be able to look at me and maybe I should sit but I have too much adrenaline running. “For killing your boyfriend.”
A grimace crosses her face and she cries out as if insulted, “That guy was not my boyfriend!”
I flood with relief and for a second my knees go soft before I remember something. “Then what were you doing in his house this late at night?”
She wrings her hands, lacing her legs around the chair. “I was at his party, drank a little too much and fell asleep in a bedroom upstairs. Then I went downstairs and there he was and then...then you came.”
I believe her story but it’s good she has me in her life now because I’ll never allow her to go to a party again without my supervision.
“You needed my protection,” I murmur and she twitches. “And I wanted to give it to you more than anything.” I’ve never had anything like her. I’d kill for just a second with someone like her, have someone like her not run away from me but be desperate for me. Desperate for my protection and my brutal love.
Her eyes flare even more as if she’s maybe surprised or flattered by my need to protect her but she shouldn’t be. It’s what men like me do for our women. I want to clasp her face, cup it in my palms and tell her she’s mine now but for some reason her lower lip is trembling. She keeps glancing at the open window and I figure that she’s cold and close it.
Another whimper exhales her mouth and I try a smile. “Better now?”
“Y...yes,” she stutters and her knees tremble. I try not to stare at her bare thighs but her shorts are flimsy and it’ll be easy to rip them off.
“What’s your name, lil red?” I ask and she squirms, her legs rubbing and she breathes.
“Yale. Yale Harmony.”
“What’s your age, Yale?”
