Page 26 of Crawl
I hang up, then look down at the muscle man’s dark red face.
“Sorry to cut it short, but I’ve got an appointment to make.”
I pull on the chain, standing on his chest until the man’s face swells purple like an eggplant, and finally, the stress in his face relaxes, letting go, escaping into death. I wipe my brow. Sweat laces my fingers. My dick is full of pressure, and I squeeze the head through my trousers.Soon.
I stare at the body. I need to clean the mess. Remove the nails from the windows. Discard the extra keys. Paint his body in primer, then stash it in the crawl space, filling it up with insulation foam until he’s barely there.
But all I can think about is Remedy on her knees.
I pull the man to the crawl space, then put on my protective mask. I quickly paint his body with primer. It doesn’t erase the odor, but it helps to block it, especially paired with the insulation foam. I take the pump from the guest bedroom and start the gun nozzle, letting the polyurethane swarm his body in waves. In the end, only his fingers stick out of the puffy white material, but they blend in with the rest. My cock twitches, eager for my little cure. She’s been waiting for too long now.
I close the hatch, sealing him inside. I pull the rug over it.
Once I clean up my mask, the primer, and the foam pump, I race over to Remedy’s rental house. I don’t care about the locks. The nails. The broken painting. I don’t care how screwed up that vacation rental is. If the cops haven’t found me yet, they won’t find me tonight.
I just want her.
I dial her number from the front porch. Instantly, she opens the front door and her green eyes flutter. The short skirt around her hips shows off her thick, sunset orange thighs. Her tank top barely covers her tits. Her peach fragrance surrounds me and I lick my lips.
She’s ready for me.
“I made you a drink,” she says.
She points to her bedroom. Cheap lace jewelry decorates the walls. I grab a cup off of her desk, handing her the other. We clink the glasses together, but she hesitates before she drinks, and that makes me stop. I sniff the contents.
The amber liquid stinks of liquor, but that doesn’t mean it’s pure.
“You poisoned this,” I say.
“It’s just whiskey. Here.” She reaches for mine and takes a sip. “It’s drinkable. Don’t worry.”
It doesn’t explain why she’s waiting for me.
I narrow my gaze, but I’m slightly disappointed. Iwanther to fight me. She makes things interesting.
“What am I repairing?” I ask.
She throws a finger at the kitchen. “Fridge handle came off.”
I exit her room. It’s dark, and as the fridge comes into view, I see that the handle is there, and intact. Is she messing with me?
She leaps forward, jumping onto my back, the knife hitting my cheek. I growl, smacking the knife out of her hand, then spin until she falls off of me, stumbling onto the floor. She howls, then moves to attack me again, but I pin her to the tile, her wrists in my hands, small and delicate, and so damn breakable. I pry her legs open with my knees and she breathes through her teeth, rasping out each breath.
My dick throbs with blood, a lightness filling my body.
She still wants to kill me.
I like that. I like it a lot.
“You surprise me, little cure,” I grin.
“You deserve to die,” she yells.
I press my legs between her thighs, my trousers against her naked pussy. She grunts, baring her teeth, even as she wets my pants, writhing on them. No matter how much she wants to kill me, she can’t help herself. It’s so fucking hot.
“And how do I deserve to die?” I ask.
“I’ll cut off your dick.”
