Creep - Jennifer Hillier [119]
She didn’t slow her rhythm and his orgasm quickly approached. He tried to hold it off, tried to think of something else so it wouldn’t be over too quickly. He conjured up images of the foster father who smacked him around, the kids at school who snubbed him, the home for boys he’d lived in for two years after his mother died.
And all the while he kept squeezing. But inevitably, an incredible warmth began to spread throughout his body and he gave up. Sighing deeply, he closed his eyes and went with it, squeezing her delicate throat harder and harder.
He dimly felt her writhing in his hands, bucking and smacking at his face and scratching at his arms, but between the heady music and his approaching orgasm, there was no way to stop.
He felt himself let go, felt the pent-up release of weeks of watching her, waiting for her, dreaming of her. He came so hard he shook. Thrusting his hips upward into hers, he milked every moment, the pure bliss washing over him, controlling everything, controlling nothing.
When he opened his eyes a moment later, she was slumped in his arms, her forehead on his chest, still as a rag doll. He kissed the top of her head, spent and exhausted, but she didn’t move, didn’t speak.
He said her name gently, rubbing her back, feeling a small sense of pride at having tired her out this much. Not bad for a first time. She didn’t respond. He spoke her name louder twice more, but still, there was no movement.
Tilting her head back to look at her, he saw that her eyes were closed and her lips were slightly parted. A line of saliva ran down the side of her mouth to her chin. He wiped it away, confused. Then he saw the two deep red marks around her throat.
Thumb-size marks, made by his thumbs. He’d squeezed so hard he’d bruised her. Alarmed, he shook her, but her head lolled back onto his chest with a thump.
Pressing his index and middle finger to the side of her neck as he’d been taught to do in health class, he tried feeling for a pulse. He couldn’t find one. When he placed his head against her breast, he couldn’t hear anything.
If she was breathing, he couldn’t tell. If she had a heartbeat, he couldn’t hear it.
The music reverberated through his bedroom as “Creep” reached its climax, falsetto voice against heavy guitar.
He pushed her head back again and moved her hair off her face, which was slack and unnaturally pale in the late-afternoon light. Her naked torso was shiny with sweat, no doubt a mixture of both hers and his. Her naturally rosy lips were almost colorless.
He stared at her in shock. Silent and limp and unmoving and . . . dead. And he was still inside her.
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
And as he traced the line of saliva that trailed slowly out of her mouth with his finger, he felt himself begin to grow hard again.
He stopped speaking.
Sheila lay beside him, unmoving, not saying anything. After a few minutes, the silence in the room was more than he could bear, and Ethan opened his mouth to say something. Anything. But she beat him to it.
“You liked it,” she said, but her voice held no trace of accusation. She was simply stating a fact.
He looked at her. “Yes. I liked it. I liked how it made me feel. Powerful, in control, dominant. Do you know what I mean?”
She nodded.
“Do you think I’m sick?” He found himself afraid of her answer.
“Yes,” she said, and her eyes closed for a brief moment. Then they opened again. “But it’s okay. I can help you. If you want my help.”
He nodded, too overcome to speak.
“But you’re right, we need to get out of here.” Sheila’s fingers brushed his cheek. “We need to start over someplace new.”
He nodded again, then rolled on top of her. Her lips met his eagerly, full of passion and desire, and a surge of bliss went through him.
Sheila accepted him. She loved him despite everything, and it was all going to be okay. They were going to have a new life together. His hands moved down her naked body and she moaned. Sighing, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to get completely lost in her.
He didn’t realize she had the gun