04-14-2022, 11:52 AM
A feral dog who’d seen a bone he decided was his.
Fortunately (unfortunately?) for Malachi, Chris was not paying all that much attention to the effect he was having on him. Too tall. Too experienced. Too alive. Not like this supple, painted bitch under his hand, well past his prime but still worth a round.
How many times had Lyle talked down to him? More than one round. A round for every orifice. Perhaps some new orifices. His dirty money worked as well as any other, but he did nothing but talk out of line to his betters. Had he thought of he and his father as some social climbing ingrates, like Zack? Little rats that had to dig their way into accreditation, for their unpredictable mongrel blood?
Chris wrinkled his nose in disgust, pressed against the jut of his neck to push it out more prominently. He finally took his hand back, digging out his cigar case with his clean hand and thumbing through the remaining cigars with his corpse-strangling right. Peach powder swept a stripe across them. He almost wished he’d finished his last, but he closed and pocketed the box once more.
His gaze slid to Malachi at his comment, neither impressed nor particularly shocked. What was this creature Lyle had scraped out of some opium den gutter? A rat?
“Right,” he smirked, though that unfriendly look in his eyes had returned in full force. “He starved his little guard dog.”
Cultured men fucked corpses and tossed them out afterward, clearly. Was he seriously going to have to wrestle with this mutt so he could fuck the damned thing before Malachi galloped in like some indiscriminate scrap hound? Fuck, shoot, fuck the bullet holes too.
Again, that look passed like a storm as more important information came his way. Buried in the morning. Meaning Chris wouldn’t have to pay anyone to dig him up and haul him out, or get dirt on his dick, or even undress in an uncomfortable environment to do his deed. He’d be waiting, inside. In his casket. He could make as much of a mess as he wanted below the shoulders – and none would be the wiser!
Chris bit back a moan.
“Do you have the key?” he whispered back.
Fortunately (unfortunately?) for Malachi, Chris was not paying all that much attention to the effect he was having on him. Too tall. Too experienced. Too alive. Not like this supple, painted bitch under his hand, well past his prime but still worth a round.
How many times had Lyle talked down to him? More than one round. A round for every orifice. Perhaps some new orifices. His dirty money worked as well as any other, but he did nothing but talk out of line to his betters. Had he thought of he and his father as some social climbing ingrates, like Zack? Little rats that had to dig their way into accreditation, for their unpredictable mongrel blood?
Chris wrinkled his nose in disgust, pressed against the jut of his neck to push it out more prominently. He finally took his hand back, digging out his cigar case with his clean hand and thumbing through the remaining cigars with his corpse-strangling right. Peach powder swept a stripe across them. He almost wished he’d finished his last, but he closed and pocketed the box once more.
His gaze slid to Malachi at his comment, neither impressed nor particularly shocked. What was this creature Lyle had scraped out of some opium den gutter? A rat?
“Right,” he smirked, though that unfriendly look in his eyes had returned in full force. “He starved his little guard dog.”
Cultured men fucked corpses and tossed them out afterward, clearly. Was he seriously going to have to wrestle with this mutt so he could fuck the damned thing before Malachi galloped in like some indiscriminate scrap hound? Fuck, shoot, fuck the bullet holes too.
Again, that look passed like a storm as more important information came his way. Buried in the morning. Meaning Chris wouldn’t have to pay anyone to dig him up and haul him out, or get dirt on his dick, or even undress in an uncomfortable environment to do his deed. He’d be waiting, inside. In his casket. He could make as much of a mess as he wanted below the shoulders – and none would be the wiser!
Chris bit back a moan.
“Do you have the key?” he whispered back.
