The taste of bourbon, a cry, his uncontrollable urge to fuck her.
He did it. Didn't he? Yes, he did. Probably.
Broken thoughts, soaked with remorse and pleasure, were flirting with his conscience. A diabolic sex collage of blurred and disjointed frames covered the walls of his mind.
"I can feel you're excited," she winked at him, laughing, while they danced intertwined.
She laughed, then she was in.
The fuck if she was!
He could still see her naughty lips round out the angularity of her beautiful face. And the way she bit her lower lip ...
Man!
There was lust in those fuckin' brown eyes. She wanted it too.
She wanted, she wanted. The little slut.
But the cry? Her no kept reverberating in his memory, louder than the deafening and rhythmic bass. That had been real. His mind recorded it.
"Please, don't do that. Let me go!"
She sounded tormented and frightened like someone weeping.
Those words had been spoken. Every time he conjured them up, they were always the same. The hiccupping sound of her despair never changed. Why couldn't he imagine it without hiccups?
Maybe his guilt added them.
Who do you think you're fooling? Huh, buddy?
Damn bourbon. That unreliable doctor, instead of relieving his pain, had stunned his mind and released the beast.
The mnemonic video was still chaotic, but the sequence with her black hair tied in a small ponytail swaying after every push of pleasure—a pleasure that still excited him when he remembered it—kept an unbearably high resolution. And the blackmailing gun that he pressed onto her upper back was the vanishing point of all his memories.
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Bullets From The Past
Детектив / ТриллерWe all make mistakes. We lock our faults in the closet of our past, and try to carry on. For a while, we delude ourselves that Life has forgotten our debt, but the moment when She brings us the bill always comes. And seldom does she cancel the inter...
