by Turner, V T
She didn’t waste time when she came around. She invited herself in, waited for me to close the door and then grabbed me. I could see the hunger in her eyes, smell the desire in her breath and feel it in her touch as she wrapped her hand around my neck and pulled me close. The kiss was hard and quick as usual, very little intimacy there, pure passion and desire. She toyed with me whilst I our tongues worked manically in each others’ mouths. She worked my cock until it was hard, then she freed it from my pants and left it there, prodding her clothed, protected pussy in vain hope. I think she liked to tease me like that, liked to get me excited and then leave me hanging, but it wasn’t long before she took me upstairs.
The sex was extraordinary. She didn't give me any control, commanded the bedroom, her body; my body, as if she had dominion over all. She undressed me, then herself, and then she lay on top of me and put a hand between her legs, kissing me while she played with herself, the back of her hand against my impatient, eager cock.
She bit my lip in her excitement, drew blood. When she was ready, when she had warmed herself up -- after she gave me a taste of her fingers -- she allowed me inside. She paused midway, rolled over, climbed on all fours and told me to ride her. I watched her arched back, her wild hair as she tossed her head from side to side. I listened to her moans of pleasure, her screeches of excitements and then her orgasmic scream. I came on her buttocks, her pale, smooth skin almost camouflaging my cum.
She grinned, laughed hysterically and then rolled over, not caring about the mess on her backside. She grinned at me, her face was red, alive. Then she climbed off the bed, stood up and stretched, finishing with a satisfying moan.
I opened my arm, gestured for her to lie back down, to hold me. She looked at it like it was a hair in her soup.
“Come on,” I said playfully.
She shook her head, turned her attention towards a clock on the wall, made a face that suggested she needed to be somewhere else.
“I’ve gotta go,” she told me bluntly.
I sighed. “I need to talk to you,” I said, propping myself up. “Please.”
She groaned, an exaggerated noise that rattled from her chest and out of her throat.
“Please.”
She shook her head, getting very annoyed.
“Please, just let me say one thing.”
“Fine!” she snapped, throwing her arms exasperatedly into the air. “What is it?”
I let her anger subside, let the echo of her scream die down in my ears, then, softly, I told her: “I love you.”
She didn’t say anything immediately, as if soaking it in. I was hopeful in the silence, waiting for her to reciprocate, but when she finally reacted, she laughed.
“What’s so funny?” I said after a while.
She shook her head in a gesture to herself and then quickly dressed whilst I watched, waiting for an explanation.
“Look, I know you may not feel the same just yet, but we’ve--”
“I’ll never love you,” she said harshly.
I was on my feet, my flaccid cock sticking to the top of my leg, adhered with the juice of our lovemaking. “Why do you say that?”
“Because it’s true.” She gave me a long look, finished off with a disgusted snarl, then she walked out of the room. I followed quickly behind her, grabbed her before she began to descend the stairs. I turned her around. “Talk to me!” I begged.
She brushed my hand away, growled at me. “I don’t like you,” she said plainly. “The sex was good, but this,” she threw her arm around exasperatedly. “This is too much. I don’t want to see you again.”
“Really? How can you--”
“I don’t like you anymore.”
I felt my heart break as her iced words cut through me. She saw it, saw my pain through the expression on my face, but she hadn’t finished yet. “I never liked you in that way,” she said. “I certainly never loved you.”
I hung my head, pinning my chin to my chest, she continued:
“You make me sick. Following me around, stalking me. You’re obsessed! I just want a good time, I want someone who’ll fuck me and shut up about it! But you...you’re something else.”
I looked up, saw the void behind her as the steep staircase led down to the hallway. It beckoned over her shoulder, an abyss which told me this is how you shut her up, this is how you get what you want.
I reached out, grabbed her by the elbow. She tried to brush me off with more insults, thinking that I was trying to make contact whilst I offered my forgiveness or love, but that’s not what I had in mind. I gripped her flesh tight, held on despite her attempts to shrug me away. She shifted backwards in her desperation, I saw her eyes widen as her heels tipped over the edge of the top stair, felt the panic course through her skin. She grabbed at me, asking for me to be her savior, but I had no intention of saving her.
I released my grip on her elbow and gave her a swift push on the shoulder. She didn’t have time to right herself, didn’t have time to grab for the bannister and the force with which she fell was too strong for her to control. The back of her head hit the staircase first, followed almost instantly by her neck and her shoulders. She toppled over, head over heels. When she rolled over for the second time, grunting and growling through each increment, I heard her neck snap.
The noises stopped after that, she hit the bottom of the staircase with a thud, then there was only silence.
I looked down at her. Her neck was twisted, bent across her body at an obscene angle. Her limbs no longer looked like they were hers, sprawled around her lifeless body. Her beautiful pale face was paler than it had ever been, a rush of blood that seeped out of her head bathed her beautiful dark hair in a crimson pool.
My love was gone and I had killed her, but, as I stared and pondered, I realized that I didn’t feel the pain and anguish that I knew I should have felt. I didn’t feel guilt or loss. She was my angel, my piece of perfection, but I couldn’t have her and that would have driven me mad, possibly to the very situation she found herself in now: dead by my hands. But I knew that it didn’t matter anymore, because now no one could have her.
I stood at the top of the stairs and stared at her body until the seeping blood began to pool outwards, enveloping her pale shoulders, soaking into her back and her arms. My apathy turned to a gradual smile because I knew that, although I may have not been her first, I was her last, and it had been special, worthy of the ultimate climax.
Thank you for reading
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You may also be interested in these other titles by V T Turner, available on Amazon Kindle:
Sinister Touch
My Paid Angel
5 Days a Week
Voyeur
Forbidden
Betrayed