By Blood Written

Начало книги

She fought the urge to scream; after all, there were people downstairs.

The blaring music-loud, driving retro punk-and the relentless din of party chatter probably would have covered her cries, but some last, long-buried remnant of propriety wouldn’t allow her to let loose.

On his back, underneath her straddled legs, gazing up as she shook and trembled, he knew she was barely holding it in. He felt her thighs tighten, the quadriceps harden-ing, breath quickening. Her eyes closed tightly, the squint deepening into furrows that would, in another decade or so, be crow’s feet. Her blond hair-long, straight, expensively coiffed-danced from side to side as the air in her lungs compressed with the constricting of her chest. She leaned forward and dug her fingernails into his chest, the sharp, manicured edges digging through the first layers of skin and stopping just short of bloodletting.

He smiled at the pain and thrust upward into her. She was delicious, exquisite, all the more intense thanks to the lines of coke they’d done a half hour earlier. She’d matched him push for push, rhythm for rhythm, until the energy swept over her like the tides that foretold a hurricane’s leading edge. And when the storm finally broke, when the air burst out of her lungs like an explosion, there was only the suppressed yelp of her release and then collapse.

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