Stay With Me.

He’d passed out on her. But it’d be brief. She stepped out of the shadows, unzipping her leather vest, slowly withdrawing a reflective cut-throat razor. Her blue eyes relished the torturous reveal, even though he missed it. A bullet was too good and far too kind for this bastard. The gentle heat between her thighs rose to a burning. It took considerable force of will not to touch herself. Her purple lace underwear was sodden, uncomfortable. Murder was such a turn on…

The act of depriving him of his life would have no meaning if lost consciousness continued. She wanted him present for this. In the kitchen she’d stared at her blood covered reflection balefully, lust and vengeance burning in her heart and cunt. She returned to the lounge and threw a glass of ice water in his face streaked with congealed blood. He awoke from the mercy of protective unconsciousness with a sickening jolt in the metal dining chair. Her crushed velvet voice teased his ears, when she finally deigned to speak.

‘Stay with me, sweetness.’

She was dragging another of his black coated steel dining chairs across the polished reclaimed wood-strip floors of his loft. Not that he held much concern for property damage at that point in his evening. He was getting colder from blood loss… He thought about asking her name again, but what really was the point? A name was as redundant as mercy. He knew he was dead. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of pleading or offering money.

His murderer stood before him, just out of a reach he couldn’t make, even if he’d wanted to. She kicked off her heels, then slowly, deliberately stripped off her leather pants, tossing them aside. He watched her further unzipping her vest until the soft brown areola of her erect nipples pinched into his hazy view. Her breathing was shallow, yet heavy, as she sat in the chair opposite. He contained to feel himself draining onto his expensive floor. She spread her legs with a groan and edged forward on the seat until the dark purple gusset of her panties disappeared between the swollen folds of her labia. Folding her arms across her chest she jacked back and forth, hissing with delight the lace of her underwear rubbed against her clit, while she pulled at her nipples until she came with a gasping shudder.

Through risen panic once more he could do nothing but stare, transfixed as she got herself off, before rising shakily to her bare feet. The blade of the razor appeared in her right hand, from nowhere. Stepping to him she swiped it across his exposed throat with a sickening lack of effort. The arterial spray was disappointing. He didn’t have much left to lose when the cold flooded his airway. He just died with a strained tired gurgle, almost grateful.