the dark thatch of hair between her legs as she climbed on top of him. When he tried to lie back on the bed, she shook her head.
“No, stay like you are.” She sat on him, reaching down to help him slide inside her. A groan escaped his lips. The wetness and warmth were beyond words.
Sitting up, locked together like this, his face was right against hers. He kissed her deeply and another groan escaped him as she started moving her hips. Her hair was so long that the soft ends tickled his thighs.
He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands-at the moment, they were around her waist, pulling her to him, but did she want them somewhere else?
She stopped kissing him long enough to ask, “Is this your first time?”
He nodded. “Should we-I can go see if George has condoms…”
Without slowing down, she reached behind her, taking both his hands in hers. Her eyes were fixed on his when she placed his hands around her throat.
“Squeeze,” she said.
He stared at her, his hips still rocking under hers. “What?”
“Squeeze.”
He obliged her and closed his fingers around her delicate neck, but gently. He understood what she wanted, but he didn’t want to hurt her.
“A little harder,” she said. “It’s okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“Trust me, I’ll tell you when to ease up.” Her eyes were focused on his and she kissed him, her tongue searching his mouth urgently.
There were no words for the exquisite pleasure, no words to describe the incredible feeling of connectedness he had with her at this moment. It was better than anything he could have imagined. She threw her head back, thrusting into him faster. Almost without thinking, his fingers tightened.
A few seconds later, he pulled his hands away from her throat, scared he’d hurt her.
She took his hands and put them back. “Don’t worry.” Her eyes were locked on his and her voice was patient. “I’ll tell you when it’s too much. Really, I like it. It intensifies it for me.”
She tilted her head back again, placing her hands behind her, palms resting just above his knees. Her thrusts were long and deep. Leaning forward, he devoured her breasts. His hands stayed around her throat as she wanted, squeezing. It wasn’t long before he began to lose himself in her again, and he only vaguely heard the DJ on the radio announce the next song.
“Creep,” by Radiohead.
“I love this song,” she whispered, extending an arm toward the stereo to turn up the volume. “It makes me feel so…”
She didn’t finish her sentence, but he didn’t need her to because he knew what she was trying to say.
“Creep” was about obsession, unrequited love, and self-pity… feelings he understood all too well.
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 until he felt the cold steel barrel press against the base of his throat.
He felt his eyes widen in surprise, and he looked down at her.
Sheila’s face had changed.
“Get the fuck off me, motherfucker,” she said. Her eyes were black and cold. “Or I’ll blow as many holes in you as it takes to make you get off me.” Her eyes never wavered from his face, and they were serious. Deadly.
He rolled off her in disbelief, never taking his eyes off the gun. Sheila sat up, pointing the weapon at his face, the light from the muted TV flickering over her naked body. Her cheeks were flushed, and not from the kissing.
He couldn’t help but think she looked magnificent.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, her flush deepening. “Don’t admire me, you sick fuck. You think I can
