Projecting

         I should never have called her. She was danger. But how could I not call her, with that slinky smile and those laughing eyes? The way her hips waved back and forth in front of me, her long black hair slipping over and along all of her curves. I wanted her. I knew she wanted me.
         I remember her voice – sultry. Like whiskey and cream, jagged and soft at the same time. Velvet covered shards of glass. Begging me to touch her, teasing me with whispers of what she would do to me. Her ragged breath as we got worked up. Begging me to taste her.
         The way she tasted. So creamy. Sweet. Salty. How her throat gleamed in the moonlight before I gently ripped open her jugular. How her perfume mingled with the ferrous scent of her blood. How her lovely, gargled screams poured all that delicious crimson wetness down her slinky black dress.
         Her eyes staring at me. Begging me to pull more pleasure from her body. Pleading with me to make the exquisite pain last. Needing me to rend, and tear, and devour.
         I did.


word count: 188