The woman on the floor was lifeless. Lifeless. They spread her Auburn hair into different places, smeared with dried blood. Her chocolate eyes were wide open, hiding the shadow of her killer.
Her body was defenseless. And the smell. The smell was unpleasant. Her stomach filled up the contents of her breakfast, bracing for its drop. Her heart pounded against her rib cage as one question coursed through her mind; Why?
The corpse was devoid of skin and pitted burrowing insects. It was too much. Impossible to execute such a heinous act. Kate turned away as her stomach heaved, nostrils filled with the sniff of decaying meat. Her blue eyes closed as she lifted her head into the silvery sky, sucking in its freshness.
Officer Martin sauntered toward Kate, flipping the notepad. “Jogger passed by and smelled the rotting animal."
"Had he seen her?"
Martin shook his head. "He ran, tripped and smelled her." He bit onto his lower lip as his hazel eyes scanned the naked body.
Shuddering, his right hand touched his forehead, then the middle of his chest, his left shoulder and to his right shoulder in prayer. 'In the name of the father and the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen,' he kissed his knuckles before looking back at Kate.
She breathed with difficulty as she steadied her overbearing stomach. In this job, she's seen it over and over. A corpse was a corpse. Setting her eyes upon the rotting woman, she felt nauseous. Before she could draw another breath, a hand laid on her shoulder. The police officer stood behind the sick woman in the rush of damped weather.
"You okay, Detective?" he asked, his voice thickening from the dense mass of air.
Turning around, she met the suave man. For a man going in his mid-forties, he had the body of a teenager, swelling muscles under his white dress shirt and protective vest. The badge pinned to his pants made him look hotter. He was the guy swinging around bars dressed in a tailored suit as he stares at the rack of liquor–blind to the amorous women. That's the reason Kate pegged him as a cop from when they'd first clashed. It didn't turn her off though, just made things more attractive.
She sniffed. Her hand dropped to bring back a used tissue. "Peachy."
He plants both palms on top of her shoulders, working them down the stretch in soothing caresses. "Flu?"
Kate shook her head and blew her nose. The noise rattled the hell out of her. However, it was an impulse when delving into the rainy days, "Anything on the Vic?"
"Body went for autopsy. Jogger went to the station for further questioning,"
He ran his hand down her arm before engulfing her icy cold hand into his warm one. He gave her hand a squeeze and flashing her one of his million-dollar smiles. “Go home and rest."
"I can't. What about the paperwork–"
His voice was louder now. "I'm telling you off."
She pulled her hand out from his heated one and crossed it to her chest. "I'm not a child."
"I didn't say you were."
She unruffled a cleanwhiter than white tissue.
Blackhawk shook his head. "Dammit woman, I swear."
The woman resembled that of a Ghost and yet, she was as stubborn as a mule. She was a resentful woman who crawled under his skin as a bad itch that he couldn't reach.
She murmured, 'Fine' as she stomped out of the park behind The Lava Lounge Bar on 2nd Avenue. He seemed to pop every nerve left in her body, and soon she'd be resembling the rotting woman.
• • •
Blackhawk lapped his third shot of Guns N' Rosemary as Officer Martin reclined in his seat and watched the women enter the bar.
He circled the edge of his cocktail. "How's the new place?"
"Snazzy," he replied.
Officer Martin laughed, slamming his hand over the counter. "Better than the old one?"
Blackhawk thought back to his first home. Old and in need of repair. Inside the house, the furniture was dusty and old; It looked like if touched it would crumble to dust. The walls were weathering, and the hardwood floorboards creaked under one touch. It was a home. Until the uninvited guest made an appearance. One rat, and then another. Suddenly, there were three ugly black beasts, each good six inches long made his home theirs. He would continuously fix the leaks, cement the holes, and hammer the windows to optimize his home.
He swallowed the last drops. "I'm living the luxury."
Officer Martin pulled out his buzzing cellphone and surveyed the message sent by his lover. Sighing, he stood from his seat and filled down the remains. "Mrs. is looking for me."
Blackhawk laughed. "Can't go longer than forty-five minutes?"
He pulled out a few notes and dumped them onto the counter. "She's hungry."
With a smirk, he patts his back.
"Can I get you a drink?"
He knew the voice belonged to a seductress. His gaze slid over her curves covered by her the little black dress that left cursor to his imagination. Scanning her from feet to the head, her appeal satisfied him. The woman was short, midnight eyes that drank him in. A woman with great taste enticed him. She looked to be the type.She was a temptress no doubt. And he loved it.
"Surprise me," he said.
She beckoned him a draft beer as she sipped onto her four Roses. "I'm Cheryl." She reached out to him.
He took her hand in one shake. "Adriel," he said. "You alone?” She giggled and points to the back of the dimly lit bar. "I came with friends."
He spotted three identical women swaying on the dance floor and wondered how erotic it would be to fuck three of the same features. Three identical voices moaning his name as he pounds into one tight pussy. The others shuddering with his thick fingers sliding into their wet holes. The thought made his cock stiffen. He looked away and focused on the blonde beauty before him.
He sipped on his drink. "Why aren't you joining them?"
Cheryl shrugged. "I'm not a dancer."
"Bless your heart, sweetheart."
She sighed. "I hadn't planned on celebrating my birthday at a bar."
Birthday? The women dressed as though attending a funeral instead of a birthday bash. Her hair laid down in tight curls and lips masked with bloody lipstick. If it weren't for her physical features, he could've left her at the bar unsatisfied. He knew just to unwind the timid lady. He gulped down his fourth drink and pulled her up.
"Let me teach you."
Moving past heated bodies, Blackhawk planted his hands firmly on the woman's waist, bringing her body closer to his. She gasped as her body slammed into his hard chest, automatically planting her hands on top of it.
"Put your hands around my neck," he said.
Doing just as commanded, heat rose to her cheeks as they began to sway. Blackhawk brought his face down into her neck, drinking in her scent of rosemary. Perhaps it was the drink or the happy hour special but the smell had intoxicated him. His lips touched her temperate skin, burning it with his soft kisses.
"How old are you?" he asked.
She leans back to grant him a skin full. "T-twenty-four."
Shit. He wouldn't commit to be adulatory. The woman was at an eighteen-year difference. He was a man, but he knew his limit. He considered women under the age of thirty a child. She sensed his tensed body and pulled away to look him in the eyes.
She fixes him a look. "I'm a grown woman."
"I didn't say you weren't."
"You backed away."
Nipping at her skin, he tightened his hold on her waist. He grinds his hardening length into her stomach. "You want this?"
Who was she to deny his offer? The man was dangerously alluring. Struggling to find her breath, she nods and buries her face into his chest.
He growls. " Words, baby."
Barely he strolled toward his car with Cheryl holding onto his arm. His Jeep opened in a hurry. Maybe fucking young flesh had the animal inside him unleashed.
Climbing in, his hands found her thighs as he buried himself between them. His hands slid up until he reached the hem of her tight dress, digging his nails into her skin. She moaned and withered under his touch.
Her hands roamed around his back, digging her manicured nails into his work shirt. " I want you."
He pulled away and sat up to unbuttoned his shirt. Her hands traveled from his back toward his chest, running them through the little peppered hairs. Unbelievably turned on, his hand reached for her panties, tearing them off her and leaving her mound exposed to the cold air.
His hand found her clit. And that was her undoing. The man hadn't even touched her and yet one feel of his skilled fingers; she was on the verge of screaming out her orgasm. His hand played with her and his mouth found her neck. Sucking and biting, he was lost in ecstasy. Followed by the amount of clothing in his way, he used his free hand to pull down her dress. His growl sent shivers down her spine at the sight of her uncovered breast.
It was small. Yet, all that mattered was that it could fit into his palm. He cherished anything that could scream his name. His mouth moved down toward her breast, engulfing one tit as his hands circled her clit. She was a moaning mess. Unable to contain the amount of pleasure she received—she wanted more.