Cinnamon & Spice by M.X. Kelly [horror]

Cinnamon & Spice by M.X. Kelly

I see her standing by the fountain. She’s crying. She looks like she’s lost, and in a way, maybe she is. She just had a fight with the ungrateful bastard of a boyfriend. He’s playing touch football, rough-housing with his friends now. They’re more important to him than she is. I’d like to make him pay for that. Slowly and painfully.

She reaches up and wipes tears from wide, beautiful brown eyes. Her hands are slender; her fingers long and exotic.

I want to touch her skin. It looks like cinnamon. I want to caress her soft shoulders, let my fingers linger gently over the pulse of her delicate throat. And kiss…a sweet, sensual kiss like dew on that throbbing vein.

I want to taste her.

Yes! I can feel her heartbeat pumping wildly as I taste her in my mind. She is sweet and tender in my thoughts…like honey and cream.

She would taste like spices, I can tell.

Cinnamon and spice and everything nice.

That’s what little girls are made of!

She looks positively delicious, and my heart aches with the need. I lick my lips and swallow and imagine the warmth…the flood of her. She looks at me and smiles, and I find myself startled like some schoolboy with an adolescent crush.

I am trembling. I’m thankful that my sunglasses hide my eyes from more than just the scorching rays of the Sun. I’m sure my lust would be betrayed, if not for these dark lenses.

Her boyfriend is strolling over now, making up with her. He is not even really trying to apologize. She forgives too easily. Is it fear, that look in her eyes? I should kill him and take her for myself. What a prize she would be! I could drink and drink and never get my fill of her…heat flooding my mouth in its intensity. She would be mine for all eternity.

But in my heart, I know it’s not to be. I’m not really the romantic type. I only like to pretend I am. My race has been so romanticized by the current human culture, it makes one almost forlorn not to try and live up to that. But I can’t.

I’m a beast and I have a beastly desire.

I would not be sated until I’d ripped her throat from ear to ear in my wanton bloodlust, pulling the carotid into my hungry, thirsting mouth to suck on like a sweet red licorice stick.

She is leaving now, linked hand-in-hand with the boyfriend…they cast long shadows in the fading light of dusk. She casts another glance my way and I see the hunger, the longing in her eyes…

I fall in farther behind and lose sight of them as they round a corner. I lift my head and scent the breeze, my pulse quickening with the thrill of the hunt.


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