Page 7 of A Very Killer Christmas
“Why the fuck do you live like this? You’re like a ghoul or one of those blind things that live under rocks.”
I sigh, wondering if that’s accurate. The picture he painted isn’t very flattering.
“Why would I care about the opinion of a lousy killer?”
The water stops running. The air smells of roses, which makes sense. It’s one of my favorite scents.
“Would you care about the opinion of an excellent killer?” he asks, and there’s a shiver in his voice, either from amusement or the cold.
“No.”
The doors slide open. I watch greedily as the large, naked body shining with moisture lurches out onto the mat. He grabs my towel off the hook and starts drying his face, but that’s all right. I have far more interesting things to ogle.
Except, they look nothing like what I’ve seen online. I should have listened when people said porn was far removed from reality. It gave me unrealistic expectations.
“Wow, that’s… tiny.”
He freezes, the towel obscuring his face. I keep staring. There’s a trail of dark hair leading down from his navel to the miniscule set of genitalia between his legs. They are perky and taut, nothing hanging freely, like I was led to believe. It’s all so… compact.
His ball sack looks small and wrinkled, as if there’s nothing inside. On top of it, his penis is barely bigger than a plum. It’s plum-shaped, too. I thought phallic objects, like sticks and towers, were supposed to resemble the actual penis shape, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. His is rather oval.
It’s sort of cute.
Suddenly, there’s a face in front of me, the sharp tip of his knife pressing to the middle of my lower lip. My eyes are wide, looking right into his eyes, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, he’s furious.
“You weren’t supposed to look,” he growls, his voice so low, goosebumps race down my nape. “Stupid girl with a death wish. Now I’llhaveto kill you.”
I am completely still, my senses in overdrive to absorb this strange, thrilling moment. My heart beats fast from adrenaline, because a knife is pressed to my face, but I’m not scared, not really. I’m too busy feeling his hot, angry breath sliding down my cheek, and the wide, secure hold of his cold palm on my shoulder.
His face is very symmetrical. Big, dark eyes glare at me from under thick eyebrows. His nose is straight and wide, and his mouth is lush, full lips twisted in a sneer. A small scar puckers the skin under his eye, a line with a jagged tip slightly resembling an arrow. It points at his mouth, so that’s where I stare.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, trying not to move my lips. At this surreal moment, I am incapable of saying anything but the truth. “I wanted to see a naked man at least once if I’m going to die tonight.”
He releases a long, controlled exhale. “I could slash your throat right now. Why aren’t you afraid?”
I stare into his eyes that are so alive with anger and determination. This killer has so much more life than me, so much more power. All I do is exist. His one breath is more passionate than my entire life. It’s shockingly attractive.
“I don’t think dying will be any worse than living,” I confess in a hoarse, scratchy whisper. “It might even be better.”
His nostrils flare as he studies me without blinking. The knife pulls away from my skin, but it still hovers in front of my face like a pointless threat.
“What did you mean, ‘at least once’? You’ve never seen a naked guy?”
I scoff. “I’m a weirdo shut-in who lives her life online. Figure it out.”
He closes his eyes with a pained expression that looks even more attractive than the furious one. I don’t understand how someone with a face so perfect becomes a killer. He should be an actor or something.
When he gets up, it’s with a fluid, catlike grace I could never dream to emulate.
“Then look all you want,” he says, standing above me as I’m confronted with a very close view of his crotch. Things seem to hang lower there, and it’s not as tiny anymore. “You’re doomed anyway. And for your information, I’m a grower.”
I get one more front-seat glimpse before he turns away and resumes toweling his body. My mouth waters when I watch the play of his muscles under his skin. God, this man is a work of art. I think I might even die happy if he’s the last thing I see.
“A grower?” I ask to distract myself from the heated helplessness that pools in my lower belly.I am one sick girl, that’s for sure.“Does that mean it only gets big when you’re horny?”
He snuffs out a small, tense laugh. “Precisely. So you do knowsomething, little ghoul girl.”
I shrug. The Internet can be very educational if one cares to learn.
