Patricia Rosemoor - Skin

“Michael!” she whispered when he made her thighs quiver in response.

“Do you want me to stop?”

His fingers were already inside the edge of her panties, parting her lips, burrowing into her wet warmth. She could hardly breathe, her pulse was racing, her flesh was on fire.

It was just sex.

A much-needed release.

In answer, she kissed and opened to him.

He played her like a violin, with the precision of a man who knew a woman’s body, who knew the instrument that would make her whole body sing. Her clit had never known such a master. He played her faster and faster until she was nearly mindless with wanting and needing and, finally, having.

When she came, he had to hold her so she didn’t slip to the floor. Her knees seemed to have disappeared.

Her heart was pounding. Her head was light. Her skin was slick with a sheen of afterglow.

No words passed between them. He refilled their glasses, handed one to her. She downed her wine and set down the glass.

Then undid his belt and unzipped his jeans.

He was ready for her. Hot. Heavy. Hard. He pulsed when she touched him.

With a moan, he leaned back against the counter, braced both hands on the edge and watched her intently. He filled her hand. And when he leaned forward and kissed her again, he filled her mouth. He set the rhythm with his tongue. She followed with her hand and fingers, flashing over his length, thumbing his tip and spreading the fluid there over his head.

He let go of the counter and found her breasts, slid under the material of her dress and bra so that she felt his flesh against hers. Felt him thumb her nipples in the same escalating pace. Heat spread through her, and her head grew lighter. She had to have him inside her. With her free hand, she moved her panties to the side and with the other, guided him up her slick path.

Catching her buttocks with both hands, he hitched her up so he could go deeper. She wound her legs around his back and rode him hard.

When they came, it was together. An explosion of the senses. Colors, smells, sensations all intensified.

He held her wrapped around him, foreheads meeting.

And then she quieted inside.

And remembered why she was there in the first place.

Remembered Hannah was still at risk.

When Lilith insisted on going home, Michael expressed his disappointment but walked her to her car. He kissed her good-bye. Not the light brush of lips on lips. Not the intense tangling of tongues.

His kiss was warm and deep and possessive.

And left her feeling guilty on two fronts, both because she’d betrayed him and because, for a few minutes in his arms, she’d forgotten Hannah and so had betrayed her sister, as well.

WANTING TO FEEL CLOSER to Hannah, Lilith went to sleep with the stuffed tiger cat, remembering the past when they’d been as close as two sisters could be.

Memories turned into bad dreams, and she slept restlessly, forcing herself up out of another nightmare of Hannah being hunted.

A noise outside startled her. Her eyes flew open, and she sat straight up, dropping the stuffed toy to the floor. Heart pounding, disoriented for a moment, she slipped out of bed and looked around. She checked the locks on the doors and then went to a window and looked out. Everything looked normal. No dark car with lights on in the middle of the street. Dawn was about to break, but outside, the street was still dark.

Empty.

Wait! Movement. Lilith squinted hard.

In the middle of the street that moved away from the river, the old homeless woman was pushing a grocery cart holding black bags filled with her possessions.

Dressed only in a sheer negligee, Lilith slipped on shoes and ran to the coat closet, where she grabbed a raincoat. She fetched her keys and hurriedly unlocked the front door, but by the time she got out on the sidewalk, the woman had disappeared once more.

She couldn’t have gotten far.

Lilith took off down the street after her. Running in heels was a bitch, but she determined to talk to the only person who’d been witness to what happened the night Hannah was taken. Maybe there was something, some small thing, that could help her figure out the identity of the man.

Away from the river, buildings multiplied — one of the old neighborhoods with apartment houses and two- and three-flats and single family homes a century and more old. Here alleys intersected blocks. Undoubtedly that’s where the elderly woman had been headed, to pick up items tossed out with the garbage.

The alley turned into a T. When she got to the intersection, Lilith still saw no one.

But she heard footfalls behind her. She whipped around. Saw movement in the shadows. Didn’t hesitate. Ran for her life.

The slap-slap of leather on pavement followed.

She could take care of herself. She could fight. But mentally, she simply wasn’t prepared. Not for this moment. Not for this place. This would be on his terms. She wanted them on hers.

So she kept running, darted down a gangway between two apartment houses. Down several steps of an underpass beneath the first floor apartment. Breathing hard, she grew desperate to lose whoever followed.

She could do it.

Face him.

Beat him.

Just not now.

She flew up several steps into a cement backyard.

Where to go?

Another alley.

Catching her breath, she slipped out of the yard and crouched behind a lineup of black resin garbage cans on wheels. She rolled into a tight ball and tried not to breathe.

In the pooled yellow alley light between cans, she saw dark-clad legs stop nearby. He was breathing heavily. Inching back slightly from the crack between two garbage cans, she prepared herself to start running again.

The man’s legs turned one way, then the other, as if he were trying to decide which way to go. Finally, he moved off.

Lilith stayed put. Waiting.

Agonized.

Demoralized.

She could have ended it right there, one way or another, but she’d let fear take hold of her.

Would she do any better if she finally met the killer face-to-face, even if it was on her terms?

IT WAS DAYBREAK by the time Lilith got back to Hannah’s place.

Disappointed in herself, she slammed the front door and threw the dead bolt. Dropped the raincoat on the couch, went back to the bedroom where she rescued the tiger cat from the floor and brought it back to bed with her.

She’d convinced herself she could do this, but could she or was she fooling herself?

Good thoughts of Hannah, she told herself as lay there for who knew how long. Her mind kept going over and over the chase through the alleys. Eventually, exhaustion overtook her. She drifted off thinking, No more nightmares. The phone ringing woke her sometime later.

Groaning, she rolled over and checked the clock. 9 a.m. She’d slept a few hours.

No name on the caller ID. Her stomach churned as she picked up the phone anyway. Suspecting it was him , she demanded, “Who is this?”

“You haven’t danced for me yet,” came the electronically altered voice.

She sat straight up in bed. “What do you want?”

“You may not be afraid for your own safety or your sister’s, but what about the girl’s?”

“What are you talking about? What girl?”

“She says her name is Carmen. If you want to see her alive again, you’ll dance for me. Tonight. ”

The click on the other end of the line told Lilith he’d hung up on her.

“Carmen!”

Panicked that the killer had even known the girl’s name, Lilith called her home.

“Mrs. Vargas, it’s Lilith. Can I speak to Carmen, please.”