Mon Amour De Mort

His Grey eyes stared out from a beautifully tanned face, surrounded by long black hair. He would have looked feminine, if he didn’t have such chiseled features. As it was, he looked like a fallen angel in his leather jacket, complete with spikes and chains. Yet this fallen angel seemed to fit so well standing against the lined wall, right at the six foot line, and holding a number and name in front of him.
All these thoughts float through you r head as you study the picture of your next bounty head. You’ve prided yourself on your success rate as a bounty hunter, catching every bounty head that’s come your way, there’s no way that Damian De Mort would mess that up. Convicted of multiple murders, De Mort escaped from death row after shooting ten guards in the state prison. The paper in your hand has in bold print: “Dead or alive.” You’re planning on dead.
You look up to scan the room. The club is packed with ravers tonight. A strobe is flashing in the corner, and glow-sticks are flying everywhere. A half-naked woman is dancing with a pole onstage, while everyone else is jumping up and down to the rhythm of the base blaring through the sound system. The air is thick with marijuana, so you fear breathing too deeply and getting contact high. This is one of Damian’s hangouts, and you’ll be damned if you get distracted.
You question the bartender, and he points you toward the back rooms. You wade through the crowd and finally make it to the door just before a mosh pit starts. You close the door and are now standing in a white hallway. The music is still audible through the wall, but you ignore it and head for the only closed door. You knock and a masculine voice tells you to enter.
The room is very casual, looking somewhat like a hotel room. This doesn’t interest you, though, because all you care about right now is sitting on the bed reading a book. Damian De Mort looks up at you, his gray eyes filled with innocent curiosity. His long body is clad in a muscle shirt, jeans, and socks, and you curse yourself for noticing such useless things. He speaks to you, and his voice is slightly rough, like someone who spent a long time screaming.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
He must think you’re a prostitute. You intend to correct him, “Look, whatever fun you think I’m here for-”
“I know what you’re here for. You’ve come to arrest me, or kill me, the choice is yours.”
Your jaw drops slightly in surprise. Damian sets down the book and stands up, “Don’t look so surprised. You’re not the only one who researches their enemy. You are the most successful bounty hunter in the state, probably the country. I knew you would find me, and it wouldn’t take long.”
Your mouth closes and your hand rests on the butt of your gun, just for comfort, “Then why didn’t you run?”
“Because I have to admit that I’m very intrigued by you,” He starts walking toward you, “And I can see in your eyes, that you feel the same way.”
You know you should move, but you’re caught in a trance by his beautiful eyes, they could read you so well. He bends toward you, and you only break the stare when his lips press against yours. You don’t pull away, but instead pull him closer, turning the chaste press of lips into trying to climb into each other. He closes the door and presses you against it. You feel the arousal spread through you, making every inch of you beg to touch him. His groin is pressed against you, hard and eager. You encircle his neck with your arms and his waist with your legs, and allow him to carry you to the bed. He sits you down on the soft mattress and you let go of him. He breaks the kiss, looking into your eyes, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
You shake your head, “Neither can I.”
He lifts his head and trails his fingers along your cheek, “Tu es belle.” He kisses you again, this time more tender, lingering on your mouth. He pulls away, and begins undressing. You do the same, throwing even your holstered gun on the floor. Damian stands in front of you. He is lean, with soft dents on his stomach where muscles are, and on his hips where the bones stand out ever so slightly, leading to his large erection. The sight of him has you aching with need.
He holds out his hand, and it’s like he’s offering you the world. You grasp his hand and he pulls you to him. The moment your bodies press together sends a firestorm of need and pleasure. Your hands move over him, you have to touch every part of him as your mouths consume each other. You lie on the bed and he moves down your body. His hand finds you, and you writhe as his fingers explore the edge of your opening. He rubs his cheek against your breast, causing you to plead with him. He slides one finger into you, and your body screams for more. He adds another finger, stretching you, as he licks around your nipple. You bury your hands in his hair, its soft silk fanning over your body. He lightly bites you, sending a shiver through your body, making your muscles clench around his fingers.
He laughs, a very masculine laugh, while his voice is becoming lazy and thick with pleasure. He withdraws his fingers and spreads you legs more with his hips. He shows you his fingers, slick with your moisture, then he puts them in his mouth and licks them clean. You can’t wait anymore. You move your hips, making the tip of him slide against you. His eyes close in pleasure. He braces himself on his arms, in a near push-up position, and thrusts into you until he reaches the end of you. You head flies back in the rush of pleasure/pain. Your knees draw up as he slowly pulls back out. You make small whimpering noises and barely have time to catch your breath before he thrusts back into you and you cry out. He finds a rhythm, and pounds into you while you clutch the blanket for dear life, head back and eyes closed as wave after wave of pleasure crashes stronger and fiercer in you until you scream wordlessly in climax. He meets you there and screams your name, his hot release sending more agonizing pleasure through you. He collapses on top of you, both of you breathing hard, two pulses racing.
The next sound you hear is his laughter. That thick, lazy laugh floats though the air, causing you to laugh with him. He rolls off you, still laughing, a serine look on his face. After a while, the laughter fades, and you look at him seriously.
“So, are you going to arrest me? That is your job, what you came here for.”
You think about it, “No, I won’t arrest you, or kill you. Not yet, anyway.”
A sly smile crosses his face, “Then I guess I should get a head start.” He gets up and dons his clothes, you do the same. As he stands at the door, one hand on the knob, he turns back to you, “I hope I see you again, and not though jail bars.”
You smile, “Count on it, I always get my bounty.”
A smile in return, then Damian De Mort, murderer and bounty head, walks out into the hallway. Lord knows where he’ll go, but you don’t’ care. For once, you can live with a less-than-perfect success rate.