Page 8 of Haunting Me

Nearly breathless, she asks, “Why do you call me Ma Petite Mort?”

I stop mid-thrust, and I adjust so I can look at her face. “The French use that to describe the feeling of an orgasm. The bliss is a little piece of death that we can experience while living. You are my little death. Every time I come inside you, I’ll get to experience that bliss.”

“But you called me that before we… you know.” She said.

“Fucked.” I replied, with a chuckle.

“Right.” She muttered.

I wrap my hand around her throat and pull her up to my lips. “In the three months I watched you”

“Stalked me.” She said.

I huff. “Stalked you. I never let myself come. I knew I wanted to experience what dying inside you felt like. It’s transcendent, Layne.” I bring her lips to mine, capturing them. Her lips parted, allowing me to explore and taste her. Nirvana. Her smell, taste, her very essence is my new favorite drug. Her tongue eagerly meets the strokes of mine.

My cock inches back inside her slowly, feeling her tight pussy flutter around me. She gasps.

“No matter how we fuck, rough or tender, loving or angry. Know that the only pussy I want to die inside is yours, Layne.” I push the tendrils of hair that have fallen into her face away, so I can stare deeply into her eyes. The connection between us doesn’t break as I slowly savor every moment I am in her pussy. Her amber eyes look into my soul as I tear down the walls of hers, beckoning her to let me in.

Underneath me, she spreads her thighs wider. “Give me everything.”

As much as I thought I would want to tear her apart, I wanted this. I crave this deeper connection with her.

Capturing her lips in mine, “Not tonight. Tonight, I'll make you fall in love with me. You’re mine, Layne. I have a lifetime to give you everything.” The dam breaks inside of her and she smashes her lips into mine, moaning into my mouth. I continue the deliciously slow thrusts until she comes.

“Wes,” comes out as a whisper from her lips, “You’re going to be the ruin of me. Aren’t you?”

With two more deep thrusts, I fall apart. I'm clinging to her, my face buried in her neck as I ride out my release. “Yes,” my reply comes out as a staggered whimper, “Does that scare you?” Layne shakes her head yes. With a kiss on her cheek, I lifted myself from on top of her. I walk into her bathroom and I turn on the sink, taking the washcloth I run it under the warm water.

Layne winces and groans as the warm washcloth runs across her pussy. “You’ll probably be sore tomorrow,” I smirk, “a reminder of me for you to have throughout the day.” After cleaning her face up, I wipe my face with the cloth, then my cock. I grab my boxers from the floor and put them back on.

Layne sits up on her elbows. “Are you leaving?” She says, I’m facing away from her but I can tell she has a frown on her face, just by the quake in her voice.

"I should," I say as I make my way towards the couch to retrieve my pants.

It's just my lighter and cigarettes I’m after, but I can't help but grin at the thought of her already craving my presence.

“You could stay,” she pleads, “come back to bed. Please?” I hold up my pack, showing her I just want to smoke. The embarrassment all over her face, “Oh. Um, you can’t smoke in here.” I made my way to the window with the fire escape and cracked it open, feeling the cool breeze on my face as I leaned out on my elbows.

As the nicotine surges through my system, I feel the cool bay breeze from her window blowing on my face. I can hear her shuffling around in the room behind me.

What now, Wes? Are you going to spend the night with her like she wants?

I turn around and see her grabbing the bottle of vodka from the cabinet. I finish the cigarette with one last drag, stubbing it out on the escape, and flicking it out.

“Was it that bad? You already want to forget it,” I say, walking towards the counter.

She scoffs at me. “No. I just want to sleep. I can’t sleep without it lately.” Already knowing this, I grab the bottle from her before she pours out a shot.

“Come on,” I urge her, dragging her by the hand back towards the bed. She falls into the sheets and I grab the comforter and drag it up over the both of us. She snuggles into my chest, “Sleep,” I tell her.

“I can’t. My dreams…” she trails off and I can feel the wetness of her tears on my chest.

“I’ll fight the nightmares away if they come. I’m much scarier.” I tell her.

Layne traces the tattoos on my chest, running her fingers over some of my scars. As her hand slowly relaxes, her breathing steadies, and her eyes gently close. While holding her close to me, I use my hand to trace the beautiful curves of her body. While my fingers trace the outline of her full lips. She is asleep, breathing deeply.

“Layne,” no response so I know my next words she won’t hear, “I love you, Ma Petite Mort.” In those words, the death sentence is spoken into existence.

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