He gestured to the shower, wanting me to go in.
But I wasn’t going in alone. I reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head.
His smile was pure sex. He quickly took off his pants and then before me stood a naked Esteban, a wonderfully sculpted man, like golden honey and bronze.
I wanted to run my fingers up and down his washboard abs, I wanted my mouth to kiss the ridges of his hips, I wanted his erect cock to slide deep inside me.
But Esteban was a man on a mission. He put his hands on my shoulders and slowly turned me around and led me over to the shower that was now steaming up the bathroom.
The shower was redundant at this point—I was already hot. But the water felt amazing on my too-ripe, too-sensitive skin, washing the paint away so we were standing in a swirling pool of sunset colors.
Having this naked man pressed up against me, this beautiful naked man who had shown me so much in the last few days, I needed to do something for him. I dropped to my knees and took his dick in my mouth. It tasted good, felt good to my tongue and lips, the weight heavy in my hands. I wanted to give him some of the pleasure he had given me, even if the pleasure would never really last.
The sad truth was I hadn’t given a blow job in a long time. It hadn’t been wanted in my household, and I wasn’t sure if I was any good at it anymore. But from the way Esteban gripped my hair, I knew he did want it. It was only when I felt his breath quicken, his balls tighten, that he pulled away and groaned for me to stop.
I did so reluctantly, relishing the feel of him. He brought me up to my feet and held me against his heaving chest before he kissed me breathlessly. We kissed through the water, kissed through colors.
When we were both worked up, Esteban turned the shower off, grabbed a few towels from the rack, and led me out into the bedroom. He put the towels on the bed, then lay me back on it, my legs around his neck.
As much as I was craving for him to go down on me, an image kept flashing through my mind. The one I had in the Jeep the other night, the one of him taking off my panties with the barrel of his gun. The idea of a weapon of death so close to me was tantalizing in ways I was too afraid to understand.
“Esteban,” I said, panting while his lips trailed up my thigh.
“Yes,” he whispered back. “You have a glorious pussy, in case you didn’t know.”
“Do you know what would make it more glorious,” I said, my voice catching in my throat. I was scared to go on with the request, but knew it was something I’d never get to experience again. This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to feel alive.
My shadows craved it, as did my body, so I came to a compromise.
“Do you have a gun?” I asked.
He paused, and I looked down to see him gazing up at me from between my legs, his brow furrowed. “Yes. Why?”
I bit my lip and laid my head back down on the bed. “Have you ever . . . used it? On a woman?”
Another pause. Finally he said, “Do you mean, not in the killing way?”
“Have you ever . . . put it inside someone? And not pulled the trigger.”
He swallowed. “No,” he said, his voice low, “but that is probably the hottest fucking thing I have ever heard. And I have heard a lot.”
“Will you try?” I asked, feeling extraordinarily vulnerable from both my position and the request. It felt so strange to be laying myself so bare, even if it was just sexually.
“You really do have a taste for death, don’t you,” he said to me as he came up. He kissed me hard, passionately, hungrily, his fingers pulling on my hair until I moaned. Then he abruptly pulled away and went running naked out into the living room. I heard him pick up his leather jacket and when he came back into the bedroom, he had a gun in his hand.
“Don’t worry,” he said as he promptly emptied the clip and made sure the chamber was empty.
My eyes widened at the sight. “I’m not worried.”
“I keep it fairly clean,” he said as he brought it over to me, about to get back into position. “More or less.”
“I think I’ve decided I like things dirty.”
“You think?” he asked, his voice rougher now, an octave lower.
I could feel him tracing the gun up between my thighs. I clenched, my body yearning for it, for the cold hard metal, for the kiss of danger.
“Perhaps we need lube,” Esteban said. Moments later he slipped his fingers over my slit and sucked in his breath. “Or perhaps not. You’re so wet, Lani. I could drink you.”
“Do it,” I moaned. “Lick me with your tongue, fuck me with the gun.”
He swore something in Spanish, I don’t know what, but it was impassioned. I felt his lips press down on my clit, his tongue snaking out to rub it just as the cold barrel of the gun teased at my entrance. My legs spread for him as he slowly eased the gun into me. I felt myself expanding, the coldness both a shock and a turn-on. My body rippled with pleasure, with excitement, with the thrill. Something so deadly was deep inside me, a thing that had taken lives was now giving ecstasy to mine.
It didn’t take long before I was howling, coming hard and fast as Esteban angled the gun to hit my G-spot, and his tongue rubbed
