Le Petite Morte Ch. 01

The woman in red. Trouble. A cliché, classic to be sure, but things don't become cliché unless there's some truth to them. He'd remember that later, after it was too late to untangle himself from the web she'd woven around him.

She strolled into his little corner restaurant, out of the dark, damp night. No, Donovan James thought, she didn't stroll, she sauntered. When a woman looked like her, it was impossible to do anything but saunter. She didn't seem to notice that conversation dropped off as she crossed the room, or that heads turned in her direction. At least, she didn't seem to notice. Donovan had a niggling suspicion that she knew precisely the effect that she was causing, and that she was enjoying it, even if she didn't show it.

She settled herself on the barstool directly in front of him, her dress blindingly red in the gloom of the room. She raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow, as black as the hair waving down past her shoulders. There was a smirk, a tiny one, in her pale gray eyes that matched the smirk twisting her undeniably sexual mouth. Donovan watched the words formed by those luscious lips.

"Whiskey. A double."

Donovan poured the amber liquid into a shot glass, trying to place her voice. It wasn't New Orleans anymore than his was, but it wasn't anywhere from the South, either. It was brisk, almost clipped, in a way that said big city--big Northern city. Not New York, not Boston, but someplace close. Someplace far from where she was now.

She locked those smirking eyes on his and knocked the whiskey back in one, sighing a little as she set the glass back down on the bar. "Another, if you don't mind."

Donovan poured another, then turned to deal with the regular who took a seat at the other end of the bar. It was a slow night, and instead of keeping his bartender on, he'd taken the shift himself. The days between Mardi Gras and Easter were touch and go, and while business and clientele were steady, it was never a bad idea to keep an eye on labor cost. Besides, his bartender had hinted that he had a hot date, and he was sympathetic enough to let the kid go.

When he moved back down the bar, he saw that she was staring at him. Not in a way that unnerved him, or even signified interest, just staring at him. Since he didn't think he was anything worth staring at, he found it more than a little strange. Sure, he'd been told he was attractive, with his shaggy brown hair, brown eyes, and long, lean build, but he'd looked in the mirror often enough to doubt it. Besides, he was usually told he was attractive while the speaker was under the influence of alcohol. It tended to negate any effect the compliment might have.

He didn't comment on the stare, but refilled the shot glass when she pushed it across the bar towards him. He filled the orders for the few tables in the restaurant, did some cleaning, worked on the schedules for the next week. When he made his way back around to her, she pushed the shot glass towards him once again. He sat the bottle on the counter next to it.

"I'll assume you're not driving."

She blinked at him once, then threw her head back with a throaty laugh that had heads turning in her direction again. Letting out one last sighing laugh, she ran her fingers through her hair, and sent him a look that had more fire in it than the whiskey. "Nobody drives in the Quarter."

"Touché." Donovan poured another shot, pushing it back towards her. Before he could release it, she wrapped her fingers over the glass, trapping his beneath them. A tiny smile, the kind that made strong men weak. "Kathaleena."

He felt the world shift. Later, he'd realize it didn't shift so much as begin to fall apart. "Donovan."

"Donovan." She dipped one finger in the amber liquid, tapping it against her lip. "I like it."

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The door slamming open into Donovan's second floor apartment had the picture on the wall rattling, and the vase on the console tipping over and shattering on the hardwood floor. Neither one noticed as they kicked shoes off and yanked at clothes. A vicious kick closed the door behind them as Donovan and Kathaleena tumbled to the carpet in front of the couch.

"Take it off. Take it off." Kathaleena all but panted the words out as she pushed herself to a sitting position, her hands tangling with his to pull the dress off her. Donovan pulled it over her head, tossing it away in the direction of the couch. He paused, his breath ragged in his throat, as he looked down at the red lace half corset she wore.

"How many men have you killed with that thing?"

Kathaleena laughed, but didn't answer him. Taking his hands, she ran them over the lace, both of their breathing fracturing. When he would have moved his hands around to the back to unhook it, she stopped him by merely tightening her hands on his. "Leave it on. It'll take too long to get it off."

Donovan stared at her for a moment before capturing her mouth with a kiss that had her gasping. Moving back a half inch, he rasped out, "I don't know if you're the best thing to walk into my restaurant or the worst."

"Does it matter?" Kathaleena licked along his lower lip while her hands tugged at the zipper of his pants. She made a low, purring sound in her throat when he spilled into her hands, long and hard. She stroked him once, firmly enough to have his breath catching in his throat. "Does it?"

"No, no, it doesn't." Donovan slid his finger under the scrap of lace she wore, found her smooth, and warm, and wet. On a moan, he took her mouth again, sucking her tongue hard, making her moan in return. When he would have moved his finger further down the warm flesh, she tore her mouth away. Pushing him up and off, she rolled over, raised herself on her knees.

"Now, like this. Hard and fast."

Donovan stared for a moment, then moved to slide the lace down her hips. She pushed his hands away, and used hers to move it to the side. She turned her head, her eyes boring into his, scorching hot. "Now. Make me scream."

He hesitated for a moment longer, some part of him questioning what was going on. She pushed back at him with her hips, lips swollen, parted slightly. "Now."

Questions melted away, and he drove into her, forced a gasp out of her. Kathaleena let the upper part of her body drop down, cradling her head on her arms. Donovan pulled out of her body, wetter and tighter than anything he could have dreamed off, and gripped her hips with his hands. When she moaned, low and lusty, the animal in him took over and he drove into her again, harder than before, deeper than before.

It was fucking. There was no other word for it. The sound of damp flesh slamming into damp flesh, of high, breathy sounds and low moans. The scent of sex, ripe and pungent, more intoxicating than any smell. The scratchy feel of lace, the smooth silk of skin. The salty taste of sweat when he licked and bit the nape of her neck. The smoky, demanding look in her eyes when she whipped her head around, tendrils of black hair sticking to her flushed face.

"Again. Harder. Make it hurt."

Donovan shifted one hand from her hips, winding it through her hair. She whimpered, a sound that had the blood pounding in his ears. When he bit her again, he held tight, the taste of her skin making his head swim. He pounded into her welcoming body harder, felt her tense beneath him briefly. She pushed back against him, hard, pushing him so deep it almost hurt, then squeezed him tight with her muscles.

Donovan reflexively bit down harder on her neck, felt the skin break slightly. As the slightly sweet, coppery taste of blood spilled into his mouth, Kathaleena screamed and spasmed underneath him. The feel of her release, the exquisite clenching of her muscles had him thrusting into her one more time, then holding still as he spilled into her.

It was a long, long time before Donovan felt like he had enough strength to move, and then not far at all. Pulling out of her body, he collapsed on his back next to her still trembling body. Slowly, seemingly painfully, Kathaleena rolled to her back, her ragged breathing echoing off the walls, louder than the sounds of street traffic outside.

Donovan waited a moment for her to say something, anything. Now that the sex had passed, his conscience nagged at him for his rough treatment. When her breathing slowed, and she still remained silent, he asked, "Are you alright?"

The smoky laugh that she let out swirled around him and enveloped him, closer than the night. "Amazing. Absolutely amazing."

Kathaleena rolled until she was straddling him on all fours, her damp, tangled hair forming a curtain around their faces. Slowly, she lowered her mouth to his, her lips brushing his slightly, wringing a gasp from him.

"Perfect. You're absolutely perfect."

Tangling his hands in her hair, pressing her mouth more firmly to his, Donovan assumed she meant it.

Donovan didn't know until later how she meant it.