Welcome back to the next episode of…
Say Hello!
By, Sonsasu
Chapter Six
Trouble Is Thy Name
Human's POV
Sam continued with her faux smile, while sight went to the task of drifting over the face hovering in the crack of the door. Nearly blond hair, almost the ivory of pearl, and fine as the texture of silk, descended in their length to part at his broad shoulders. The neatly cut ends fell to rest at his waist, and just above his right temple, a single, but thin, beautifully woven, black braid threaded into his thick mane.
A year ago, when they were first dating, he had called it his defiance to a pristine bloodline, and the many things it entailed.
Normally swept smooth, back from his widow's peak, it instead hung around his face in wild locks, as if he had carelessly ran his fingers through it. She sampled a small flavor of wonder, for it was a rare thing to view him suffering morning hair. Her gaze ceased in its cataloging, to pause, and inspect the patient stare of Tom. Underneath the delicate skin of both chocolate eyes, slightly dark smudges sat, as if someone had literally taken their thumbs, and lightly brushed soot beneath them, marring the powder whiteness of his flesh.
This was not the normal look for him.
At least two heads taller than Sam, he currently wore a personally made v-neck sleeveless shirt, black of course, with a pair of low-riding, rather snug, faded blue jeans.
"Hello lover," he purred, sinful lips curing into a deviant, crooked grin. She allowed her own smile to extend, as if greatly pleased with this visit.
Pulling the door further open, she stood aside to allow Tom passage. Cat like eyes, dissected with the narrowed slashes of ebon pupils, flickered briefly to her face, lingering, as his lips crept higher in response. Elegantly pointed, and framed with lips black as soot, his inhuman teeth revealed themselves in his amusement, the model and image of such foreign design belonging to a more carnivorous species than the one he impersonated.
It still made her shiver, if just in thought.
The cruel, lust filled delight of a demonic fiend, with a delicious, mortal prey pinned beneath its grasp, was at one time, what she had thought of that certain smile when its intentions directed themselves toward her.
He passed by Sam with his usual stride of long legs, and just as her head began to pivot, her body intending to follow, the strong scent of vanilla slapped her in the face. Why did he always smell like that? It was in no way unpleasant, just…overpowering. Wiggling her nose uselessly to try to extract the smell, she shut the door with a push of her fingers, turning, and then pursuing the retreating form of Tom.
Particularly thinking of less complex ways of breaking their relationship, she caught the seemingly playful glance of his shoulder.
"Other friends have flown before, on the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before. Then the bird said, nevermore…"
The unexpected quote, bred, and gave birth to a sudden, sharp bloom of hurt. It flailed its limbs beneath her chest, striking her heart with a flux of fuddled emotions. Immediately she pushed its unwanted misery away, halting it in advance. Sam repressed, compressed, and then shoved the mutation of pain away, for a later, in-depth examination. Such a thing could come later, when better prepared for it with loads of chocolate ice cream…
Yet no matter what direction she looked at it, she was going to miss him.
There was not going to be his warm body to curl closer to during those cool nights. The ones full of lazy breezes arriving fresh off the ocean. He was no longer going to be there on dismal evenings where she could locate the tranquility of sleep. His arms would not be there, opened for her to snuggle under. She would not be able to enjoy the way they held her against him.
That jarring thought of nevermore, settled in her mind like the raven itself coming to nest.
She would no longer know the warming thrill of his laughter, or see those unguarded, abrupt grins. Let alone notice those subtle, heated glances from the corner of his eyes, or have him plant several quick, mischievous kisses on her mouth, cheek, and neck before she could squeal and swat at him. Moreover, out of her thin list of boyfriends, he had never pressed the sex issue, meaning the lack of, in other words. He seemed content with hands on, contact and hungry sessions of kissing.
"Guess he wasn't all that satisfied with my performance…"
The two eventually made their way to the three-cushioned couch in the front room, Sam being the first to plop her bottom down first. Tom joined her. He sat close enough so that his thigh brushed intimately against hers. After a moment of silence, one spent still trying to weave a coherent sentence, she decided to turn. Parting her lips to start with a small comment, which she had not paved a solid path for it to follow, the initiative sound never left to paint the air. Intelligence briefly became a crumpled lump in the tyranny of shock as another mouth adhered tightly over hers.
However, a tiny noise did manage to gain freedom.
Protests, a fair few armed with good, sane objections, came marching to her forebrain, ready to maim and rend as a lion does with an antelope, until Tom slanted his mouth over hers, with his coy tongue teasing for an entrance.
On their own volition, her traitorous eyes fell shut.
His arm enclosed on her waist, perching upon the flare of her hips, and then tightening with unspoken possession. Naturally, she wiggled because of its might, some invisible section of her fuzzy brain continuing the noble fight for escape. Further aiding to turn her toward him, pressing her to the mouth-watering, lean torso, his free hand clasped the back of her neck. In the wake of this demanding, almost bruising hold, the notion of pushing him away came with a renewed army of furious elites.
Unfortunately, each battle hardened solider earned the firmest bitch slap in history to shut them up. In a second, her deprived libido snarled…
She felt, more than saw, as he shifted off the couch, and onto the floor. Tom knelt between her parted thighs, never once breaking their contact. The unyielding grasp on her waist loosened, taking a slow slide downward, to settle just above her tailbone, and resume its firm confinement. A nudge forward, and a motion from him, sealed her lower body snuggly against his own. Another diminutive sound, this one a faint moan, relinquished its moorings when he proceeded to move, forcing her to lay flat on the cushions with his superior weight.
Tom, all the while, kept their positions from separation.
When his longer and much harder body pressed her scrumptiously into the cushions, she encircled his gently thrusting hips with her legs. Within her blurred little world governed by hormones, a noise penetrated its protecting shell like a devastating thunder strike in the hush of midnight. A very low hiss, a very familiar hiss, a very close-to-the-couch kind of hiss, registered with the stoned clerks running the function of her brain.
She reasoned it was a rather dreadful sound, not actually knowing why she connected as such.
However, the full blow of its meaning struck her as heavy eyelids lifted, and vision focused. Her gaze alit upon the strangely obscured face. In less time she thought possible, less even as it takes a steady heart to skip a beat, the featureless visage she beheld transmuted into the holder of horrors, and the cold splash of reality. Peering at her over the couch's back support, a camouflaged head leaned downward, watching.
That nasty hiss, sounding like molten steel from a forge, suddenly introduced to cold water, belonged to none other than a Predator named Grinning Fangs!
"Oh my god…"
To be continued...
Disclaimer - I do not own Predator