The Burning Hill
Page 28
“Sure. But I need to, err…” He stood, indicating his towel.
“Why don’t we say goodbye before breakfast?”
She got up out of her chair and came to him. Crossing her arms over, she pulled her vest over her head, her breasts rising and falling as her arms came back down. Pushing her jogging bottoms down until they were over the swell of her hips, she let them drop to the floor. She wasn’t wearing panties and she stepped out of the jogging bottoms, her legs graceful curves. He ran one hand down her arm, almost shyly, and then ran his other hand over her hip and down her thigh, past the paler skin of her bikini tan line and the wispy down of her pubic hair. Her skin puckered into goosebumps and she undid the towel from around his waist and pulled his body into hers.
She tilted her head up to kiss, her mouth toothpastey. Her body was warm and firm and she smelled of something subtle and wonderful. He bent his head to her neck, her breath quickening as he kissed her there. He moved around behind her, sweeping her hair to one side with a hand as he kissed the back of her neck and her ear. He ran his hand up to her breasts, feeling her supple warmth and the hardness of her nipples, squeezing and stroking. He moved slowly over the swoop of her belly and down between her legs, his fingers pushing gently into the softness of her sex. Her hips squirmed and she ground into him. Then she turned and took him in her hand, pulling him down onto the bed with her.
Epilogue
Up on the hill, people still believed that the ghost moved amongst them. And it was hard to find anyone who would speak about Vilson in anything but hushed tones. Different stories flew around. Almost no one outside the Red Ants believed that little Nuno could have rid the favela of the ghost or that it was Franjinha who had killed Anjo. They believed it was the ghost that had killed Anjo. In a way, they were right.
People who had known Vilson always made sure that everyone else knew about it. Many of them said that they had always known there was something different about him. Anyone who had seen the ghost was given extra kudos, a special status. The number of people claiming to have seen it ran into the hundreds. As time went by, it became thousands.
And Vilson moved beyond the hill and into the city below. People living on the hill who had jobs down there took the stories with them. Maids would use them to get spoiled kids to behave. City people went to parties and dinners and shared the stories that their gardener or security guard had told them.
To many on the hill and beyond, Vilson was a part of their lives.
THE END