Monica L. Patton
Till Death Do
She stood in the opulent foyer with her back against him. The top of her black, very tight, very short dress was pulled down, exposing her tawny brown skin. She leaned on him for support as he branded the side of her neck with his lips. One hand kneaded and pulled at her generous chest while the other, wet with her need, teased the swollen bud atop her sex. She turned around to taste him and their tongues wrestled for control as she slowly backed him up toward the living room. With her mouth still locked onto his, she unbuttoned his pants, pushed him down on the couch and swiftly mounted him.
She rode him. His cadence steady, her rhythm sure as passion surged between them. A tiny thread of sadness crept inward.
That’s all she would allow. As she reached up and undid the clasp of her barrette, a cascade of inky black waves tumbled down and around her shoulders.
From the base of the barrette, she pulled an ornate jewel, unsheathing a needle coated with a sticky white substance. As her hips increased their tempo, she stroked the top of his head and peppered him with feathery kisses. He was near to completion when he called out her name.
Her rhythm faltered. She hated that name.
He opened his eyes. "Sophie?"
She inserted the needle between his top two vertebrae. He froze with a look of mild surprise on his face. He tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn't move and, to his horror, neither could he.
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