‘Trust me,’ he says.
I trust you.
‘You know I love you. With every beat of my heart.’
He ties me to the bed and pours kirsch into my navel. Lapping the liqueur, he kisses his way up me. I quiver at each sweet impact. His mouth is like fire. He kisses my nipples and they tingle, burning. Runnels of kirsch trickle down the soft swells to pool on my breastbone. I cry out with need.
He slides his body over mine, mouth cherry-sticky, cherry-red. As his teeth shear into my flesh I realise: he has no heartbeat.
© Janine Ashbless