‘I’m a good listener, but I’m not going to push you into telling me everything. You can tell me when, or if, you want.’
‘I will,’ Scott said. ‘One day, I promise.’ He had squeezed Jesse’s hand and leaned over the centre console and kissed his cheek.
When he pulled up the drive in front of Scott’s house, Jesse cut the engine and shuffled in his seat to face him. ‘I’ve had a fantastic day. Thank you.’
Scott smiled. ‘Me too.’ They were still holding hands and Scott was the first to lean in for another kiss. His free hand sought Jesse’s leg and cupped his thigh as his tongue pushed forward.
When the kiss ended, Scott sat back in the passenger seat and looked up at the house. ‘I’d invite you in, but…’
‘Your mum and Ann are there,’ Jesse said. ‘It’s fine. If I come in, I might not want to leave.’
‘I might not want you to, either.’
‘Maybe next time,’ Jesse said. He didn’t want to come across like the sort of person who hopped into bed with anyone, but their words were clear on intent.
‘That’d be nice,’ Scott said, and they kissed again.
Jesse drove home with a smile on his face and another in his jeans.
And now, sitting down on the sofa in his living room, spinning emotions over in his head, he tried desperately to remember the feel of Scott’s lips against his own, of his hand on his leg, but all he could see when he closed his eyes was an image of Prabha looming over him in the dark, in his bedroom, as he woke to the sound of her coming at him.
He shuddered and shook his head as if the action would rid him of the feeling of being watched. He rose and checked the lock on the door, double-checked the windows, and pushed the coffee table in front of the door just for good measure.
For extra security, he slid the barrel bolt on his bedroom door into place, and he got into bed. As sleep finally dragged him down into the recesses of his consciousness, from within the fathomless cavern of a nightmare he could hear the whisper of her voice, the last words she ever spoke to him.
‘I will find you,’ she had said. ‘I will find you, and you’ll regret it.’
Chapter 9
Miguel Fernandez jogged through Hyde Park and felt the cool touch of the steel blade under the hip of his boxers. He had no immediate intent in using it, but there was a pleasure in knowing it was there.
He had had sex last night. It was good. It was verging on violent. Sex was a pleasure that derived from necessity, not the other way around. He was able to focus his thoughts during intercourse in a way that he couldn’t at any other time. The rhythmic action became a turning cog that allowed his brain to self-analyse and scrutinise the minutia of detail that would otherwise escape him.
Last night, sex evoked one thought: killing Kane Rider and Margaret Bernhard. Neither the old woman nor the young faggot would be a match for him, and he had no issue with dispatching either of them.
The woman last night was not a prostitute, though he had made her feel like one. He had picked her up in a bar and took her back to his hotel room, and he pushed his fingers into her mouth as he drove brutally inside her. He stared at her large areolas as her breasts jiggled and he felt her clamp down on him and try to match his rhythm with her bucking hips. He rolled her nipples between thumb and forefinger and admired his penis as it disappeared and reappeared and disappeared and reappeared. He licked the sweat from between her breasts and then he turned her over and held tight to her hips. Sensing what was coming, she struggled against him. He forced his way inside her anus, one foot on the floor, one knee on the bed for better leverage.
Before he climaxed, he withdrew, removed the condom and fed her every inch until she choked and swallowed his lot. And when he was done, he slumped on top of her, allowed his full weight to burden her, and then he rolled onto the bed beside her and
‘I will,’ Scott said. ‘One day, I promise.’ He had squeezed Jesse’s hand and leaned over the centre console and kissed his cheek.
When he pulled up the drive in front of Scott’s house, Jesse cut the engine and shuffled in his seat to face him. ‘I’ve had a fantastic day. Thank you.’
Scott smiled. ‘Me too.’ They were still holding hands and Scott was the first to lean in for another kiss. His free hand sought Jesse’s leg and cupped his thigh as his tongue pushed forward.
When the kiss ended, Scott sat back in the passenger seat and looked up at the house. ‘I’d invite you in, but…’
‘Your mum and Ann are there,’ Jesse said. ‘It’s fine. If I come in, I might not want to leave.’
‘I might not want you to, either.’
‘Maybe next time,’ Jesse said. He didn’t want to come across like the sort of person who hopped into bed with anyone, but their words were clear on intent.
‘That’d be nice,’ Scott said, and they kissed again.
Jesse drove home with a smile on his face and another in his jeans.
And now, sitting down on the sofa in his living room, spinning emotions over in his head, he tried desperately to remember the feel of Scott’s lips against his own, of his hand on his leg, but all he could see when he closed his eyes was an image of Prabha looming over him in the dark, in his bedroom, as he woke to the sound of her coming at him.
He shuddered and shook his head as if the action would rid him of the feeling of being watched. He rose and checked the lock on the door, double-checked the windows, and pushed the coffee table in front of the door just for good measure.
For extra security, he slid the barrel bolt on his bedroom door into place, and he got into bed. As sleep finally dragged him down into the recesses of his consciousness, from within the fathomless cavern of a nightmare he could hear the whisper of her voice, the last words she ever spoke to him.
‘I will find you,’ she had said. ‘I will find you, and you’ll regret it.’
Chapter 9
Miguel Fernandez jogged through Hyde Park and felt the cool touch of the steel blade under the hip of his boxers. He had no immediate intent in using it, but there was a pleasure in knowing it was there.
He had had sex last night. It was good. It was verging on violent. Sex was a pleasure that derived from necessity, not the other way around. He was able to focus his thoughts during intercourse in a way that he couldn’t at any other time. The rhythmic action became a turning cog that allowed his brain to self-analyse and scrutinise the minutia of detail that would otherwise escape him.
Last night, sex evoked one thought: killing Kane Rider and Margaret Bernhard. Neither the old woman nor the young faggot would be a match for him, and he had no issue with dispatching either of them.
The woman last night was not a prostitute, though he had made her feel like one. He had picked her up in a bar and took her back to his hotel room, and he pushed his fingers into her mouth as he drove brutally inside her. He stared at her large areolas as her breasts jiggled and he felt her clamp down on him and try to match his rhythm with her bucking hips. He rolled her nipples between thumb and forefinger and admired his penis as it disappeared and reappeared and disappeared and reappeared. He licked the sweat from between her breasts and then he turned her over and held tight to her hips. Sensing what was coming, she struggled against him. He forced his way inside her anus, one foot on the floor, one knee on the bed for better leverage.
Before he climaxed, he withdrew, removed the condom and fed her every inch until she choked and swallowed his lot. And when he was done, he slumped on top of her, allowed his full weight to burden her, and then he rolled onto the bed beside her and
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