Page 102 of The Kiss Of Death
“Do you want me to take care of your breasts for you as you finger yourself?”
She nodded, and I lowered myself on my knees to be at the same height as her. My tongue swirled up on the bud of her nipple, and I sucked, kissed, and claimed what only I could. She moaned, and my cock pulsed again.
“Part your legs wider as if you’re getting ready to be filled with my cock.”
She did, and I moved back up. My fingers caressed the length of her neck, feeling the pulse of her heart. So fast. I then skimmed over the strands of her rainbow-colored hair. Her stomach tensed, and I tightened my grip on her hair, coiling it around my fist and tilting her head back. Her sultry lips parted. Ilet out a groan, looking at the fucking ceiling. Otherwise, I would literally burst and come in my pants.
“I changed my mind. Watching you give yourself an orgasm right in front of me is making me fucking envious,” I rasped as I seized her hand and licked the taste of her from her fingers. “Delicious. I promised I’d eat you, but the question is how. Should I do it my way, or do you have any preferences?”
“You pick.”
She shouldn’t have said that. “Drop your panties.”
She got up and dropped her panties on the floor. A nerve worked my jaw. I made her back face my chest and kissed her nape before tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “On the bed, on all fours, like a good girl, and wait for me, would you?”
Goose bumps traveled on her soft skin, and she leaned over the bed.
“Crawl on the side of the bed.”
At the sight of her, waiting in angst on all fours, my heart, an organ I barely acknowledged, betrayed me with its erratic beats, pounding against my rib cage. On the prowl, I closed the distance between us. My hand roamed on her ass, my eyes engraving the shapes of her curves for my memory. Her wetness was pooling over her thighs. I slapped her butt cheek, and she jolted forward as if she thought she could stand and escape me now.
“Ass up. Legs wider. Do you know how beautiful you are right now?”
I’d never been allowed to grasp beauty for myself. I captured it, but I stayed at a safe distance or I’d just destroy it. She arched her back, and I palmed her breast, grazing on the satin sheets of the bed. Dalia defied all my assumptions. I never found one part of ugliness inside her, no matter how hard I tried.
I stroked her folds, spreading her wetness all over her clit. She gasped, her ass rubbing against my hand. I leaned forward,my breath on her sex, and I sucked her throbbing clit into my mouth. I pumped two of my fingers inside her, coordinating them with each flick of my tongue.Mine.Between whimpers, she tried to ride my fingers, her face crashing on the mattress to muffle her moans. I tasted her until her legs shook, her whole body spasming.
“Levi,” she moaned, and I lost it.
My fingers pumped inside her faster. My tongue swiveled on her clit harder. She consumed my mind. As her orgasm exploded, she tried to push me away, but I continued so she could savor the moment longer. When she was done, she rolled on the bed, out of breath, washed out.
I pulled the hair away from her flushed face. So beautiful.
“That was… intense,” she said, covering herself with my sheets. “In a very good way, thank you.”
I crawled next to her on the bed so I could force her into my arms, my erection killing me. “You’re welcome.”
On the twenty-fourth of December, Pantheon’s opera house unfolded beneath the silent descent of snowflakes, each one glimmering like a delicate jewel against the night. Mom’s hand curled around mine, her smile illuminated by the soft glow of orange-hued streetlamps. Her dress, a deep shade of blue reminiscent of the midnight sky, sparkled with a myriad of tiny crystals. Her white hair was swept up into a neat bun and adorned with a single silver ribbon.
We made our way through the crowd, our footsteps muffled by the plush carpeting lining the marble floors. Everyone’s attention was on the president’s son, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfumes of the women surrounding him.
Mom and I took our seats in the plush velvet chairs. The lights dimmed, and the orchestra tuned their instruments. The curtain opened, and a hush fell over the audience, broken only by the occasional rustle of program pages and the soft clink of glasses being set down. And then the first strains of the familiar overture filled the air.
Wait, I know that music…No…It’s going to happen again.
“Mom,” I called, clutching her hand, desperate to flee the looming specters of the past. “We have to get out of here.”
But she remained rooted to her seat, enraptured by the performance. My heart pounded in my chest as Act II began.
“Mom, please,” I implored, the music notes weaving a tangled web of dread around us.
It’s going to happen again.
It was too late. I tried to force her to move, but I couldn’t. The air was rent with a cacophony of shrieking instruments, and the doors at the back of the opera house flew open with a resounding crash. Figures clad in black emerged from the shadows, their faces hidden behind sinister skull masks, shotguns in their hands.
“Mom, please! We have to go,” I cried, my voice cracking with fear as I struggled to pull her away with all my strength.Why can’t I move her?“Mom!”
I fell on the floor. The masked figures drew nearer. I screamed for help, but my cries fell on deaf ears. The other spectators fixated on the now-empty stage. The instruments lay scattered amid the lifeless bodies of the musicians, their blood staining the pristine stage. No one was moving, and silence had settled into the room.
