the box
for the glass vial. It was half full, enough for one complete
refill or two partials. Either quantity would be deadly. But that
would be all until she managed to cultivate a new source for liquid
narcotic. Perhaps her new contact, Mr. Wray, could help her,
there.
Reis inserted the needle into the vial and
slowly drew the thumb button upwards. The thin steel spike sucked
up the juice until there were equal quantities in the vial and
tube. It was her dangerous mosquito and simply wearing it gave her
a thrill.
== == ==
The dash clock showed one-twelve a.m. when
the BMW’s quartz-halogen headlamps hit the wall of the variety
store across the road from Stan’s motel. Reis took a small tin from
her bag and treated each nostril to a fingernail of powder. She
stepped from the car, tugged on her skirt so it at least covered
her underwear, and clicked her way over to unit 8A.
Svoljsak opened the door seconds after her
soft knock. His sleepy scowl morphed into a smug leer. He stood
against the doorframe so she would have to squeeze by. Halfway in,
Reis stopped and pressed a spiked heel into his instep.
“Where is it, Stanley?”
The leer became a grimace. “I thought we
agreed I should mail it.”
She scraped the heel over his toes just to
watch his eyes widen, then moved on past. The room was dark save
for The Late Night Talk Show. The flickering images bounced off a
whisky bottle that was missing a lot more than was in the adjacent
glass.
Reis deposited her bag and bomber jacket on a
moth-eaten armchair, instantly improving its looks, and cat-walked
about in the guise of inspecting Svoljsak’s abode. She met him in
the middle, by the bed, and draped her long slim arms around his
neck. The stiletto's brought her lips almost level with his and
Svoljsak closed the gap. He tasted of stale tobacco. She asked for
a drink hoping the whisky would mask the bitterness and also warm
her up. Svoljsak liked his environment on the cool side.
Bathed in the light of the TV’s cathode ray
tube, their bodies were soon contorting on the bed before a
clapping and cheering audience. At one point Reis focused on the
screen to identify the familiar voice of a British film star, but
now Stan was on elbows and knees over her and his shoulders,
knotted with effort from supporting his weight, blocked the view.
She dug manicured nails into his back and etched angry pink lines
from spine to side. Stanley groaned, the audience laughed, and Reis
allowed the occasional small gasp.
His thrusts began to rock the bed. She
brought her arms up to the pillow and carefully removed the jade
clip from her hair. Arm extended just above the side table, she
held it in her right hand and deftly manipulated the needle from
the catch and into the grommet. It locked into place as Stan turned
his head to follow her arm. She ran the fingers of her other hand
into his hair and steered his face toward her breast.
His cadence increased and he reached beneath
her knee to raise the leg. She responded by drawing both up around
his waist, reveling in the slickness between them. His neck was
salty and the combination of whisky and cocaine was starting to
peak. Another nail pierced his back and there was more
applause.
Stan didn't have far to go. Perhaps only
seconds. Anticipation quickened her pulse and she dropped her feet
to push at the mattress and match her partner's rhythm. He slid a
hand under her neck, his mouth searching for hers. With her left
arm firmly across his shoulders Reis locked them together.
Like a roller coaster reaching a crest
Svoljsak paused at the top of a long stroke, then, with a throaty
growl plunged full-length into her. Reis gave an involuntary cry as
she absorbed the thrust. She arched to hold him still and with her
nail guided the needle below his left shoulder blade. It sank to
the hilt and she slid the thumb button all the way down.
== == ==
At first it felt like one of her sharper
claws until it penetrated deeper. His orgasm had
for the glass vial. It was half full, enough for one complete
refill or two partials. Either quantity would be deadly. But that
would be all until she managed to cultivate a new source for liquid
narcotic. Perhaps her new contact, Mr. Wray, could help her,
there.
Reis inserted the needle into the vial and
slowly drew the thumb button upwards. The thin steel spike sucked
up the juice until there were equal quantities in the vial and
tube. It was her dangerous mosquito and simply wearing it gave her
a thrill.
== == ==
The dash clock showed one-twelve a.m. when
the BMW’s quartz-halogen headlamps hit the wall of the variety
store across the road from Stan’s motel. Reis took a small tin from
her bag and treated each nostril to a fingernail of powder. She
stepped from the car, tugged on her skirt so it at least covered
her underwear, and clicked her way over to unit 8A.
Svoljsak opened the door seconds after her
soft knock. His sleepy scowl morphed into a smug leer. He stood
against the doorframe so she would have to squeeze by. Halfway in,
Reis stopped and pressed a spiked heel into his instep.
“Where is it, Stanley?”
The leer became a grimace. “I thought we
agreed I should mail it.”
She scraped the heel over his toes just to
watch his eyes widen, then moved on past. The room was dark save
for The Late Night Talk Show. The flickering images bounced off a
whisky bottle that was missing a lot more than was in the adjacent
glass.
Reis deposited her bag and bomber jacket on a
moth-eaten armchair, instantly improving its looks, and cat-walked
about in the guise of inspecting Svoljsak’s abode. She met him in
the middle, by the bed, and draped her long slim arms around his
neck. The stiletto's brought her lips almost level with his and
Svoljsak closed the gap. He tasted of stale tobacco. She asked for
a drink hoping the whisky would mask the bitterness and also warm
her up. Svoljsak liked his environment on the cool side.
Bathed in the light of the TV’s cathode ray
tube, their bodies were soon contorting on the bed before a
clapping and cheering audience. At one point Reis focused on the
screen to identify the familiar voice of a British film star, but
now Stan was on elbows and knees over her and his shoulders,
knotted with effort from supporting his weight, blocked the view.
She dug manicured nails into his back and etched angry pink lines
from spine to side. Stanley groaned, the audience laughed, and Reis
allowed the occasional small gasp.
His thrusts began to rock the bed. She
brought her arms up to the pillow and carefully removed the jade
clip from her hair. Arm extended just above the side table, she
held it in her right hand and deftly manipulated the needle from
the catch and into the grommet. It locked into place as Stan turned
his head to follow her arm. She ran the fingers of her other hand
into his hair and steered his face toward her breast.
His cadence increased and he reached beneath
her knee to raise the leg. She responded by drawing both up around
his waist, reveling in the slickness between them. His neck was
salty and the combination of whisky and cocaine was starting to
peak. Another nail pierced his back and there was more
applause.
Stan didn't have far to go. Perhaps only
seconds. Anticipation quickened her pulse and she dropped her feet
to push at the mattress and match her partner's rhythm. He slid a
hand under her neck, his mouth searching for hers. With her left
arm firmly across his shoulders Reis locked them together.
Like a roller coaster reaching a crest
Svoljsak paused at the top of a long stroke, then, with a throaty
growl plunged full-length into her. Reis gave an involuntary cry as
she absorbed the thrust. She arched to hold him still and with her
nail guided the needle below his left shoulder blade. It sank to
the hilt and she slid the thumb button all the way down.
== == ==
At first it felt like one of her sharper
claws until it penetrated deeper. His orgasm had
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