Friday, February 3, 2017

Running Scared

This is a re-write of an old post that I removed because the link no longer worked.

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Running Scared

Voices buzzed around him like angry wasps. Nate couldn’t understand a fucking word, but it didn’t matter. Two flights, three trains, and one terrifying bus ride. She couldn’t find him here.

He was confident with the distance he’d put between him and Fiona, so he treated himself to a restaurant meal. He’d grown tired of roadside food carts, exchanging crumpled wads of money for bowls of limp vegetables.

Wait staff bustled by carrying platters filled with foods he didn’t recognize.

A girl with enormous dark eyes stood at his table. Straight black hair hung down past her shoulders. He could see the sphere of a nipple ring through her thin tee.

“You English?” She smiled when he nodded. “What you eat?”

Nate tightened his grip on the small canvas bag he carried, pointed at a picture on the menu with his free hand.

She angled her head when she leaned in, pressed a toned thigh against his arm. “Noodle with fish.” She breathed it in his ear as if she described more than today’s special.

He bit back a moan. Today’s Special, indeed. “Give me that.”

She smiled again, a curve of lips both innocent and beguiling. “It will be my pleasure,” she crooned.

Narrow hips swayed as she walked away, a snug skirt barely covering her ass. His eyes followed until she disappeared behind the kitchen door. He needed more than food, he admitted. He could lose himself for a few hours, wrapped in those long, brown legs, buried in wet warmth.

But he had to find a new location, keep moving. It wasn’t safe to stay in one place too long. By now Fiona would know he’d taken the bag. He could picture her tearing through the house, her beautiful face now demonic, wild curls trailing behind her.

Sail out to one of the islands, he decided, hide from Fiona on some secluded plot of land where he could finally relax. He would rent a shack—no, fuck it, he’d buy one. Cash wasn’t a problem, he thought, tightening his grip on the bag. He would live quietly for a while, until it was safe. Smoke some weed. Get some pussy. His cock twitched in response as the plan unfolded in his head.

Nate clutched the worn bag against his chest as the slim waitress brought his plate. Her hand brushed over his shoulder, cool fingers whispered across his neck. “You want something else?”

“Sorry, honey. I can’t stay.” It pained him to decline what he knew would have been a glorious afternoon and evening. His ego was boosted when she pouted.

“You make Mimi sad.”

Nate sad, too, he thought, as she walked away.

He enjoyed the meal, tossed a few bills next to his empty plate, pushed back from the table. He contemplated seeking out Mimi, finding a dark corner off the kitchen where he could hoist her up against a wall for a quick goodbye.

“Nate.” The familiar voice purred next to his ear, warm breath teased his lobe.

Nate’s bowels liquefied as Fiona pressed the blade of a pearl-handled knife against his throat. He knew she carried it in a special compartment in her purse.

“Missed you, baby.” She ran her moist tongue along the sensitive spot below his ear, purred his name as though she’d just climaxed. She reached around him, popped the button on his jeans, edged the zipper down.

Despite his terror, he was instantly hard. Ashamed with the knowledge that he’d always want her, he closed his eyes in defeat. He felt Fiona’s lips curve against his throat as she wrapped her fist around his cock.

A feral moan was all Nate managed as he ejaculated and Fiona severed his carotid.

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