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against me. I can feel her coursing through me, like an injection, bursting through my veins. I lower her to the floor and gently lay her beneath me. Her hands caress my flexed arms as I stare into her hungry eyes. This isn’t lust, not only. It’s breath after a lifetime of starved lungs, finding air in the body of another, one who went without just the same.
    I tear her panties pulling them off her legs and she moans with a guttural quality that drives me mad. I part her legs, laying them flat to the side and she doesn’t fight, flexible, smiling at my motions, her hands running along my muscles. I place a hand against her pussy and feel how wet she is, coating my fingers while she moans. I lift my hand to her lips and watch her taste, wrapping her perfect lips around my fingers and sucking while I unzip my jeans and shimmy them down my legs. My cock unconstrained feels stiff as metal while I guide it towards her pussy. When I enter, she spasms, her mouth clamps around my fingers, as she does the same around my cock. The heat, the sudden burst of fire, surrounds us, holds us against the rain, in this small space, this sanctuary, where we burn together.
    Her pitch soars, her body perspires, wet olive skin salty where I suckle her neck, nibble. I thrust, hard, and she in turn pushes back, pressing her pussy up against me, grinding, circular. My abs press against her soft tummy, sticking, sweaty while we press ourselves harder into one another. I don’t feel my side any more, all I feel are her sensations, the smooth flesh, the soft hair, tossed, the warmth of her breath as she races towards climax, the wet, warmth of her pussy engorged, squeezing, stomach quivering, eyes wavering, but focused, locked with mine.
    She slams her face into mine biting my lip with desperation as she cums, and I hold her with every ounce of strength left in my arms, pulling her body into mine, us both refusing to let go as we climax. I cum so hard it feels like I’m emptying, giving her everything inside me, spilling out. Her wetness gushes around me, spilling onto soft thighs and the carpet. Our bodies quiver against one another as we share the same breath between our lips. Her brow furrows, she’s afraid to let go.
    I won’t let go.
    I can’t let go.
    But when I blink, I see the red hand reaching and Mike’s dead eyes staring again.
    Auna...
    Damnit.
     

 
     
     
    7.
     
    The morning chills, the storm isn’t quite passed, the clouds overhead loom darkly, but the rain has left for now. Auna’s apartment was conveniently near to the same street as the motel, though not so near to the motel itself. I’m still walking, trudging again through the mud, shirt now dry, but all my clothes feel stale. My wound feels mostly numb, with an occasional ache and tingle. I’m back in the thick of things.
    I left Auna before she woke, laid her head against her pillow to replace my arm, kissed her forehead and slipped out. I couldn’t stay, couldn’t do that to her. With all what’s barreling down on me, I couldn’t put her in that path beside me. I have to take it on, the loneliness, and relish in the moment we had, to save from the inevitable tragedy if I kept her.
    I near the motel, and I see whirling reds and blues.
    Fuck.
    I hadn’t forgotten, I guess I just stopped thinking about it. Richie, laid out with the bullet in his head, that I put there. I keep close to the treeline, in the ditch alongside the road, creeping just close enough to make out the scene without being seen. Several cars descended on the parking lot, they block off the road in and out of town. There seem to be about only ten cops, gathered around, a pair in suits at the body, rubbing chins and speaking quietly to one another. Probably trying to conspire on how to keep this quiet. Westwood Valley’s first murder in a long while, no doubt. One of the cops looks dopey, a tall and gangly young man, his uniform ruffles along his frame, and he looks nervous, talking into a