77 El Deora
Oblique Americana: a verbis ad verbera

Nighthawk 2
...continued from last week.
Harry Mars was a sucker for a desperate woman with blood on her hands. Their roles were quite well defined. She'd start trouble. He'd start bleeding. True, she was the girl of his dreams but she was also the duplicitous, manipulative, double-crossing femme-fatale of his worst nightmares. Her nails were like nettles on his back. Her lips like a branding iron on his throat, and he collected the scars like Blue Chip stamps. In rapid succession, she could belittle him, beleaguer him, and then convince him he was beloved.

She crossed the room and slipped her arms around him, kissed him on the neck, and then reached into his gut until she gripped his quivering heart in her slender, crimson tipped fingers - squeezing. He could feel the last of his pride tangibly joining hands with his weakening resistance and slip away in the heady fragrance of her perfume.