Devious Resolutions

by Ashleigh Giannoccaro

  “I came here to ask you if you’d like a job.” I lighten my tone and fiddle with my cufflinks as I move to stand directly in front of him. He lets out a whoosh of air, his body relaxing. There’s a subtle shake of his head as he runs his palms down his face, amusement coloring his voice. “You saw me perform?”

  “I did,” I confirm, studying him.

  “I’m sorry. This place is used by a lot of working girls. I thought maybe…” He shakes his head again, mumbling something under his breath. “These digs are just temporary.”

  “This place is a health hazard,” I tell him with a quirked brow.

  “Where did you say you saw me perform?” He ignores my offensive slur and continues to pry for answers.

  “I didn’t.”

  “I don’t remember seeing you,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

  “Why would you?” I cross my arms, pleased to put him so out of sorts.

  “Because a face like yours would be hard to forget,” he admits, his dark eyes boring into mine, penetrating the surface of my willpower. “If we were in a room together, I’d notice you,” he adds, and my cock thickens in my slacks.

  “Well, you’re a hard man to forget yourself, hence why I’m here.” I wave a hand around the place, a grim sneer fighting to deform my lips.

  “You have a function you want me to perform at?” he asks, curiosity giving his voice a higher pitch.

  I cross the room, heading toward the door, longing to stay in his presence but also desperate to leave the cheap, rundown motel. He fiddles with a stack of books on his bed, sorting through the bundle. I like a man who reads. A humorous chuckle threatens when I see he reads true crime books. I tilt my head to read the spine of the title in his hand, Inside the Mind of a Killer. He catches my observation and smiles awkwardly, keeping his eyes trained down. “It intrigues me to know how their minds work,” he confesses with a lift of his shoulders.

  “Who is theirs?” I pry.

  He looks up at me now, those deep brown eyes like melted chocolate. “Psychopaths.”

  Hmmm…fascinating observation. “Not all killers are psychopaths, Lucien.” It’s the first time I use his name, and I see the intrigue fire in his eyes. He wants to know how I know his name, but he won’t ask.

  “What was the function you wanted me to perform at?” He changes the subject, and it makes me smile.

  “Not a function. I want you to perform only for me.”

  This gives him pause. He stills, looking over at me from across the bed. This place is grotesque, but if he were to ask, I’d fuck him on the itchy sheets until he forgot his own name and remembered my face for eternity.

  “I thought we established I’m not for that kind of sale, and you don’t pay for that kind of transaction.”

  “I’m not asking to stick my dick in you for money,” I growl, irritated he’s drawn that conclusion despite what I said only moments before.

  “You just want to watch me dance?”

  “I want to paint you,” I tell him honestly, leaving out the full details.

  His mouth opens and closes. Silence fills the room.

  “I’m an artist, Lucien. And you have inspired me. I want you to come to my studio, hear out my proposal.” I stalk over to him and reach up to stroke a hand down his cheek. When he doesn’t go to stop me, I smudge the pad of my thumb over his bottom lip. My cock throbs as his pupils dilate and breath quickens. “Come,” I hum.

  “What?” he whispers, leaning into my touch.

  “Come to my studio,” I growl, slipping a card into the belt of his slacks and stepping back. “And hear me out.” With that, I turn on my heel and leave him there, hard as stone and titillated as hell.

  Something in the Air

  I haven’t been able to get Lucien out of my head. It’s been three days, and he still hasn’t shown up. It’s never taken a muse this long to come running to me, desperate to be under my touch, my brush, my creative drive. If he doesn’t come soon, I may have to change my plans. Either way, he will be mine. I wish it would be on mutual terms, and for the year, not just one night.

  I pace the studio floor, listening to the winter rain pound the windows as I wait for the spark to ignite. I want to finish the piece I started, but it doesn’t feel right. I’m missing a critical stage of creation, and it’s making me crazy.

  “Hades,” Bridget calls from the doorway, her golden locks frazzled and untamed. “I’m leaving for the night. Did you need anything before I go?”

  I rake my stare over her face and narrow my gaze. Deep, dark bags circle under her bloodshot eyes. Come to think of it, she’s been less intrusive these last couple days. I’ve been so consumed with thoughts of Lucien, I haven’t been paying attention. Something is off with Bridget.

  “Hades?” she repeats.

  “Sorry, no, yes—wait.” I trip over my words. “What’s going on with you?”

  “What are you talking about?” I walk over to her, pulling her into the room by her arm and assessing her. “What the fuck happened? You don’t look like yourself. You’ve been crying.” Bridget doesn’t cry. I watch her throat bob as her eyes close tight. “What has he done?” I tighten my grip. This has Mark written all over it. I will never understand why she ever married that ant.

  “Bridget,” I demand.

  “I went to surprise him with lunch like you said the other day.” She swallows, and my shoulders tense. The dark void closes in around me, telling my demons to wake up. I feel protective of Bridget. A kinship.

  “He was already eating his lunch.” Her eyes flash open, tears shining. “In the form of his law student.” She barks out a non-humorous laugh. “Twenty years old. Spread out like a buffet on his desk.” She cackles. “He told me eating pussy made him feel like less of a man! And there he was, chowing down on her bald little cunt like it was the dish of the day! He made a fool out of me,” she sneers.

  That fucking bastard. He’s never been good enough for her, and yet she loved him anyway. I don’t understand love, so I never pushed the issue, until now.

  “Did you make a scene? Does he know you saw him?”

  “No.”

  “Did anyone know you were there?”

  “No, Hades, I’m not stupid. I haven’t told anyone either. Until now—you.” She waves her hand to me.

  “You could have come to me sooner. You know that.”

  “I know. I was embarrassed. A fucking girl half his age. I was a goddamn good wife. I studied how to be one, and I’m an A student. I gave him everything a man like him could want in a wife and asked for one thing in return: fidelity. I don’t like sharing my damn stuff.” She looks up at the ceiling, fisting her hands.

  “Have you left him?”

  “No. He left.”

  I jerk back. “He left you?”

  She avoids eye contact, looking anywhere but at me.

  “Bridget?” I stress.

  “He left this earth.” She shrugs. “In pieces.”

  “You killed him? And didn’t even call me?”

  “I’m not proud of myself. I didn’t plan it out. I just reacted to his smug fucking face when he came home and told me he was too exhausted from working too hard to have dinner with me.”

  “Where is he now?”

  Exhaling, she bites her lip. “I called the cleaners.”

  “You should have called me. I can’t believe you’ve kept this shit to yourself for three days.”

  “I thought the less you know, the better. I’ve handled it, I promise. I wrote emails from his computer as him to the college to let them know “I’ve” gone away for a while.”

  “What about the girl?”

  Hatred soaks into her eyes. “She’s not to blame for him sticking his cock in someone who isn’t his wife.”

  “So, she’s still breathing?”

  “For now. I said I’m not stupid. I wrote her an email too, telling her I want to be with her and that I’ve left my wife and gone away for a while to figure things out.” She fumes, br
eath quickening with rage. “So if she does end up disappearing everyone will think it’s to be with him,” she adds with a snarl.

  I palm her cheek, forcing her eyes to mine. “I’m sorry, Bridge. He was so beneath you. And any time you’re going through something like that, you call me. We can talk, or I can at least indulge in the vengeance with you.” I smirk, bringing my lips to her forehead.

  “Do all girls shave it all off down there?” she asks, sulking.

  Chuckling, I pull her back and raise a brow. “You’re asking the wrong person. I like…” I pause, my eyes darting to the opening front door, “men.” I grin as my muse fills the space there.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not interrupting, am I? I can come back another time,” he calls out.

  No. Now that you’re here, you’re never leaving.

  January

  “This will be your room. I expect you to be available to me whenever inspiration strikes, night or day.”

  “Okay.” He nods, his eyes stroking over the lavish furnishings. It must look like paradise compared to the poverty he’s been living in.

  “Your contract is binding once signed. You must complete the year.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?” I watch him, waiting for him to ask more questions, but he’s as captivated by me as I am him. I smell it on him—the need, the ache.

  “This is new for me, I won’t lie, but I’m not going anywhere,” he reaffirms.

  “Are you nervous, Lucien?” I smirk, closing in a little more, almost touching chest to chest.

  “Yes.” He swallows. “And excited.”

  Mmmm, me too.

  “Do you live here too?” he asks, looking down the corridor behind me.

  “Yes,” I confirm. “My room is downstairs. My private quarters is where I work, eat, sleep, live.”

  “Alone?” He drops his eyes, vulnerability coloring his tone and cheeks.

  Dampening my lips, I lift his chin with my finger, my eyes darting to his mouth, then his eyes. “Yes, it’s just you and me.” I caress the words, brushing my lips over his. They’re soft, warm, pliable. I slash my tongue along the seal of his mouth, tasting him.

  “Just so we’re on the same page…” he says, breathlessly pulling back, “this isn’t part of the contract. This is just two guys wanting each other?”

  So needy. It makes me want to fuck him raw, make him scream and come until he’s too weak to stand. I bask in the reward of his smile when I say, “Two men, submitting to the desire between them.” I crash my lips to his punishingly. Moving him backward into the room, my hands grip his face while devouring his luscious lips. We’re both rock hard, our cocks grinding as he grips me to him. I’m slightly taller than him, but we’re evenly matched in stature. He’s like a marble carving, every part of him sharp muscle.

  We tear at each other’s clothing, tug of war, fucking ravenous, until we’re both bare. Skin to skin. Heat to fucking heat. I ache to touch every inch of him, he’s so fucking perfect.

  Falling to the bed, I pin him beneath me. My tongue explores his neck, chest, abs. We’re burning up, our flesh on fire in the best way possible. Hands grope and caress. His scent, salty and sweet, bursts over my tongue. I bite the flesh of his stomach, leaving a mark. And trace his abs, groaning when I reach his Adonis’s belt. Those fucking V lines make me want to explode without even getting inside him, and his erratic breathing only makes me hungrier.

  I watch his reactions as I kiss, lick, suck my way to his thick, veiny cock. The girth will test my throat, but I suck down his throbbing cock all the same, stretching my lips to take the bulbous head right to the back of my throat, humming around the thickness as it strokes my gullet, leaving salty goodness behind in its wake. I jerk my head up and down, bobbing and suckling, making him groan and grip the sheets in tight fists. My hand massages his balls while the other grips his thigh. Moans of pleasure hum through the room, making me want more of him. I swipe and suck him until he tenses all over and yells out his release. His pulsing cock empties into my mouth, filling me up. Climbing back up the bed until I’m hovering over his chest, I open my mouth and let his essence leak out, painting him in his own pleasure.

  Lust explodes between us. We can’t get close enough, deep enough. Sweat coats our skin, eyes dilated and wild as we ravish each other. Grinding, tasting, getting to know every inch.

  I urge him onto his stomach, admiring the stunning muscles dancing beneath his skin. I want to mark that ass with my scent, my teeth, my fucking ownership. I rub my cock between his ass cheeks, letting the pre-cum seep and coat the tip of my head. Spitting down the crease of his ass, I circle his tight knot, preparing him. Spreading his cheeks, I test him, pushing past the rings of muscle with my fingers first, then my cock. His ass strangles my girth, sucking me inside. Desire sparks through me, making my balls throb.

  “Just fuck me, Hades,” he cries, reaching his hand around to grab my hip urging me forward while pushing his own hips back, forcing my cock into his ass to the hilt. The intense pressure steals my breath.

  I slap his ass cheek before gripping a handful of flesh hard enough to leave a bruise. I pull back, then shove forward, pistoning my hips to punish his ass. Gripping his waist, I ride him, fucking him into submission. He feels better than I thought he would. I’ll never get enough of this, of taking his ass. I fuck him with all I have, until I roar my release, my fat mushroom head pulsing my cum into his ass. Sliding out of him, I almost come again when my creamy release trickles from his puckered hole. Leaning in, I suck at the cum like it’s milkshake from a straw, filling my tongue with my own cum. My muse quivers under my ministrations, turning his head, begging for my lips. I spill my cum into his waiting mouth, lapping at his tongue, fusing our scents. He’s mine now. I’ve fucking claimed him. My muse.

  February/March/April

  Emptying the dresser of all the clothes inside while the wide-eyed girl watches, her body quivering in fear is something I knew would need to happen. Bridget has everyone fooled that her cheating swine husband has packed up and left her. So it won’t be much of a stretch for them to believe his little ass piece quickly followed.

  “I’m going to release one of your hands. Are you right-handed or left?” I growl.

  She stares at me, tears leaking from her bloodshot eyes. Exhaling an irritated breath, I march over to her and rip off the tape. “Scream and I’ll cut out your tongue and feed it to the feline circling your feet.”

  “Right handed,” she whispers through gasping breaths. She’s going to go into shock if she doesn’t control herself.

  Placing a notebook down in front of her, I give her a pen. “I want you to write a note to your mother telling her you’re running away to be with your professor.” Her eyes spark with recognition. Now she knows what warranted a visit from the boogeyman.

  “I…I’m not. I don’t.”

  “Shut up,” I growl. “You made your bed when you crept into his.”

  “I won’t see him again. He went away. I won’t go to him. I promise,” she sobs.

  I know you won’t. He’s fucking chopped liver. I grip her chin, tilting her head up to see my eyes. “Write the letter or die, you little cunt whore.”

  Sniffling, she attempts to write, but makes a scribbling mess. I grab her left hand and place it on the table, taking a pair of scissors from a holder on her desk. I raise them, to her horror, and plunge them into the flesh of her hand. She opens her mouth to scream, but I fill it with my fist before it leaves her lungs. Her teeth clamp down on my leather gloved fist. The little bitch is going to leave a mark. I yank the scissors free and allow her to cradle her hand against her chest.

  “Next time, it goes in your goddamn eye. Write a letter more pleasing to the fucking eyes,” I demand, tugging my fist free. I’ve seen her letters and shit around this place. She’s not that messy of a writer. This letter needs to be believable. Bridget needs a reason for Mark not be coming back. Running away with the little whore is a fucking plausible
reason.

  She attempts to write again, taking deep breaths and focusing on each word. It’s impressive considering she’s bleeding like a stuck pig.

  “Good,” I commend when she’s finished. Cleaning the blood isn’t something I planned for, but this isn’t my first rodeo. I slip off my belt, not wanting to use the scissors again, creating more cleaning for myself.

  “Please,” she begs on deaf ears. I step behind her, bringing the belt over her head and around her neck. I pull tight, lifting her slight frame, cutting off her airways. She kicks and fights, attempting to claw at the belt to no avail. Her gurgling groans last a few seconds longer before she loses her fight.

  When I hear the crunch of her gullet, I drop her weight and breathe in the kill, allowing the high to wash over me. The black cat jumps up onto the corpse, curling itself on her chest, licking at the blood coating her hand and arm.

  I clean the mess and shove her body into a large suitcase matching the one I stuffed her clothes into and bring them down to her car. Luckily, her building has back entrances shrouded in darkness and no cameras. I load her car up using the keys I stole from her apartment and call the cleaners.

  “One piece and a car,” I tell them.

  “Charges have risen since our last transaction. Inflation.”

  Of course they have. It gets riskier cleaning up multiply deaths by the same person in a small timeframe.

  “I’ll arrange payment to reflect the changes,” I state, then end the call.

  I visit Bridget on my way home, letting myself inside to find her cooking in the kitchen. “Hades.” She raises her glass at me in greeting, continuing to push meat around her wok. “You do know I could have been indisposed. You should give a girl a warning before letting yourself in.”