LAST NIGHT - LIBBY CUDMORE
Originally published at Eastern Standard Crime in August 2009
This is going to be the best and the hardest night of my life. I’ve been praying for this chance since I looked into those pretty blue peepers and, as I hike the stairs, I feel like I’ve got loose wires in my shorts. The electricity is enough to melt any second thoughts.
Renee thought of everything. She opens the door wearing a narrow black silk negligee and, past her centerfold figure, I see a bottle of wine and two glasses glittering red in the candlelight.
“Hello, Jack,” she purrs.
She gives me that up-from-under glance and I kiss her slowly to melt the lead in my throat. She tastes like diamonds, the way I always imagined she’d taste. No sense in starting the evening off with a bang; I’ll work my way up. This is her night, I’ll do it how ever she wants.
She accepts my kiss with her body pressed tight to mine and, when she draws back to take a breath, she takes my hand, leading me inside. We sit on the couch and each take a glass of wine, tapping the rims together in a toast. “To tonight,” she says with a sly smile.
We drink without speaking. There’s nothing to say. As the level of the wine in our bottle begins to descend, my trembling hand slides further up her thigh, testing her offer. She’s not wearing panties. Smiling, I trace my index finger between her legs and she exhales as though she wasn’t planning on it.
“Shall we move to the bedroom?” she asks, as though we’re in a silver-screen romance.
“Whatever you wish,” I reply.
She stands and takes my hand again, leading me into another candlelit room.
She’s put on red satin sheets and we stand over the bed, my lips wet on hers, her arms tight around my neck, as though are bodies are wax, melting into each other. She unbuttons my gray shirt. I slide one black strap off her shoulder, crumpling the gown at her feet.
She drapes herself across the pillows with one leg drawn up at the knee and I don’t even bother getting any more undressed before I’m on all fours, pressing my tongue between her thighs the way lezzies like it done. She gasps and grips two handfuls of my hair, her nails raking against my scalp. I kiss deeper, savoring the taste of her. I’ll never have this chance again and I want to make sure I never forget. I don’t think that’s likely to happen any time soon.
She tugs on my hair and I kiss up her stomach until I reach her mouth. She’s biting my lower lip and unbuttoning my pants; I’m trying to finish getting my clothes off without moving any more than a breath from her mouth. I lay on top of her, kissing her neck. She wants me. This dame wants me the way I’ve wanted her for so long; the way I never thought I’d have her. I’m the luckiest man in the world right now. I fit inside her and moan into her shoulder. She doesn’t weep the way I expected her to, but this pleasure is insanity and I think I might start.
She arches her back and I clench my jaw. I don’t want this to be over but, when people say all good things have endings, they mean the good things that come when you’re between the gorgeous gams of a doll you’d kill for. I bury my face between her neck and the pillow, breathing like my heart’s going to explode. She nibbles my ear and I suck the sweat off her neck. I don’t know if it’s mine or hers, but it doesn’t matter, it’s ours now. Her breasts gasp against my weight and I open up some space, sliding my hand in—can’t let the night go by without getting a feel of that beautiful set. I haven’t been this hungry for tits since my mom stopped nursing me, but it’s time to get back to the main event before my ticket becomes useless.
A few more shoves and she swallows me with her kiss, tightening in ecstasy. I surrender. I lay on top of her, hands wandering up and down, trying to derive another few minutes of pleasure before she closes her eyes. She smiles as I fall back against the pillows and we both laugh, breathless stuttered sounds of uncertain happiness. Now comes the hard part.
She rests in my arms until her breath catches up with her and then stands to dress. I watch the muscles in her back tango with her shoulder blades as she enshrouds herself. She gives me one more smile and lays her body back on the mattress. I stroke her hair until her lashes fall to her baby cheeks and she sleeps.
She doesn’t wake when I get up to retrieve my bag. Her eyes don’t move as I put the pistol to her head. There’s no sound but the bite of the silencer as I pull the trigger.
BIO: Libby Cudmore is a regular contributor to Hardboiled magazine and Pop Matters. Her work has appeared in A Twist of Noir, Eastern Standard Crime, the Flash Fiction Offensive, Pulp Pusher, Thrillers, Killers 'N' Chillers, Crime and Suspense, Inertia, the Southern Women’s Review and Shaking Like a Mountain. She also has stories slated for upcoming issues of Thrilling Detective, PowderBurnFlash, Battered Suitcase and the anthology Quantum Genre on the Planet of the Arts (with Matthew Quinn Martin).
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