HE GLOW IN his eyes shocked me. I backed away from the door. My hands flattened against the wall. I leaned back. My feet were wide apart and my knees shook. He was big. Huge.
His eyes had a fire that I ached to feel. He was strong. Sure. He could do it to me. What he did to Alderman Beary. My breath halted.
He could have rolled me on the floor. I breathed hard. But I couldn’t get a breath deep enough. I had to stretch and lengthen my neck. Tip my chin up. Heat rose in my chest. Between my thighs. I waved my skirt. For the cool air. Or something.
He looked hard in my eyes. Something.
My lips pressed together. I wouldn’t tell. I wanted to let him know that I wouldn’t tell. That I wasn’t sorry about Alderman Beary. That it didn’t matter and no-one would be sorry anyway and I didn’t care who his killer was. I didn’t say any of that. The last part wasn’t true.
I did care who he was. I cared a lot. All of me cared. My eyes pleaded with him. But he had to go. I thought of trying to get him to take me with him. But I could see that wouldn’t work. Not at all. It would look all wrong. Then people would come looking.
I looked behind him at Beary, face down like a round bug. A bug on a rug. I had to hold back a giggle. The man understood. Well, he understood that I wasn’t going to give him away. He didn’t have to kill me.
I wouldn’t have minded. Not as long as he dragged up my skirt, flattened me on the floor, spread me out like a butterfly, and rammed his long, hard cock all the way into me first.
I looked down and saw that his cock had the same idea. The heat of his body was close enough that I caught his scent.
But he had to go. Isn’t it always the way? You meet the killer of every dark dream you’d have never had. Dreams you would have had, if only you’d have had the outrageous imagination. If you had dreamed up a tall, lean, broad-shouldered man. A man with a look like thunder and electric eyes and hands like a surgeon. And a tree trunk in the front of his pants.
So of course there’s no time. And of course he has to go.
However much I wanted it, there was no way that I could have him wait. No even for just a while. It wouldn’t do any good to tell the police, Look, he killed an alderman who everybody hated. He won’t do it again, alright? You don’t have to worry. Let me imprison him. I’ll lock him up for you, okay? Keep him somewhere. He won’t kill anyone else, not ever again. Not unless it’s after he’s killed me at any rate. And, from the look in his eyes, I’d say, that could be a long, long time.
No way to keep him. Oh. My. Fucking. God.
As he turned to go, I reached out. Just to take his hand. Touch him. I wanted to hold his hand and keep it. He knew that I did. But I knew that just to brush his fingers would have to be enough. I wanted to know his name. Even in my confused swirl of thoughts and sensations, I knew that asking someone their name after you watched them commit a murder is simply not the done thing.
The tips of his fingers brushed my palm. When his hand slid up my arm and his fingertips grazed along my inner forearm, a bolt of lightning shot off inside me. All of my nerves caught fire at once. For an instant. A sudden, soft tsunami rolled though me. Then it vanished. Evaporated like it had never been there at all. But it left me shaking inside.
He pulled me nearer. His eyes searched me. Every part of me strained to be in his eyes. His thick lips curled. Then every part of me wanted to be in his lips. On his tongue. In his mouth. I tasted the dark tang of his breath and my head tilted back.
I wanted to say something. But the only words I knew then were Yes and Please. I watched his tongue slip and press along the bottom of his grin.
Then he was gone. And I was alone. In a dark, dingy hallway of stale painted office doors. Nobody there was alive. Nobody but me. Me and the echo. I carried that echo inside me for days.
I could never tell anyone. But I wouldn’t want to. All I wanted, all I wanted ever was that he would come looking for me. He would hunt me. He would find me. Somewhere. Somewhere in the dark.
Open. Wide. Spread. Vulnerable. Wet and waiting.
And he could do whatever he wanted.
Oh. My. Fucking. God. I was shocked at myself. I never even thought in words like those. Even though I spent too much of my free time reading about people who did, it wasn’t like me at all.
I thought I knew myself. What else lurked under the surface?