A killer in the house~ another short by Killer

[ScreamqueenNkiller]

He moved through the darkened house with deliberate, heavy steps. The hockey mask restricted his peripheral vision and turned every shadow into a threat. Ahead of him, she darted just out of reach: bare feet whispering against hardwood, her breathing sharp and quick. He could hear the tremor in each exhale, the way she tried to muffle it. The mask had seemed like a fun idea earlier. Now it felt suffocating, the plastic warm against his skin.
She rounded the corner at the end of the hallway. He lunged.
His gloved hand closed around the slender column of her throat, not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough to lift her clean off the floor. Her back arched instinctively. Her hands flew up to grip his forearm, fingers digging in as she took some of her own weight. Beneath his palm he felt the rapid thud of her pulse, frantic at first, then slowing… steadying.
A strange thought flickered through his mind.
Is she actually turned on right now?
Still holding her suspended, he shifted his grip to one hand and used the other to yank her leggings down in a single rough pull. The thin fabric tore at the seams. No panties underneath, just smooth, freshly shaved skin already slick and swollen with arousal. The sight made his breath catch behind the mask.
He ripped one glove off with his teeth, the latex snapping, and slid his bare hand between her thighs. Heat radiated against his fingers. One thick digit traced her slit, parting her, then pressed inside. She was soaked. A low, involuntary moan slipped from her lips, half sob, half plea.
He tilted his head, studying her through the mask’s narrow eye holes. The wide-eyed terror that had been there seconds ago had melted into something else entirely: parted lips, heavy-lidded gaze, the tiniest upward curve at the corners of her mouth.
Ecstasy.
He lowered her slowly until her toes brushed the floor again, then guided her down with steady pressure on her shoulder until she sank to her knees in front of him. His free hand moved to the zipper of his coveralls. The sound of it descending filled the quiet hallway. He shrugged the fabric open just enough: hard planes of chest and abdomen exposed, then lower still.
His cock sprang free, thick and rigid, already leaking at the tip.
Her eyes widened. One small hand reached up, fingers tentative at first, then wrapping around him. She couldn’t quite close her grip; her thumb and fingers didn’t meet. A soft, astonished sound escaped her as she stared.
Then she leaned forward and took him into her mouth.
He groaned behind the mask, hips rocking once, shallowly, letting her set the rhythm. Her tongue swirled, lips stretched wide, cheeks hollowing. One of her hands braced on his thigh while the other stroked what her mouth couldn’t reach. Wet, obscene sounds echoed in the narrow space.
After a minute he threaded his fingers into her hair, not pulling, just holding, and drew her off him with a slick pop. Her lips were swollen, glistening. She looked up at him, pupils blown, cheeks flushed.
He hauled her to her feet, spun her, and pressed her chest to the wall. She braced both hands against the plaster. He kicked her feet wider apart, notched himself at her entrance, and pushed in one long, slow stroke.
She gasped, high and sharp, then melted backward against him as he bottomed out. So tight, so wet, so ready. He stayed buried for a heartbeat, letting her adjust, feeling her inner walls flutter and grip.
Then he started to move.
Deep, measured thrusts rocked her up onto her toes. Each time he drove in she made a broken little sound: pleasure, surrender, need. His hand slid around to her clit, rubbing tight circles while he fucked her harder, faster. The wet slap of skin on skin replaced every other sound in the house.
Her breathing turned ragged. “Please… fuck… don’t stop…”
He didn’t.
When she came it was sudden and violent: back arching, thighs shaking, a keening cry muffled against her own arm. He followed seconds later, grinding deep and spilling inside her with a low, guttural groan that vibrated against the back of her neck through the mask.
They stayed locked together for long moments, panting.
Then he reached up, hooked his fingers under the edge of the hockey mask, and pulled it off.
Sweaty dark hair fell across his forehead. He grinned down at her, boyish and sheepish.
“Still think the mask was a bad call?” he asked, voice rough from exertion.
She laughed, breathless, giddy, turning in his arms to wrap hers around his neck.
“You almost had me convinced you were actually gonna *** me this time,” she teased, nipping at his jaw. “Ten out of ten for commitment. But next time… maybe lose the coveralls. They’re hell to get off in a hurry.”
He kissed her slow and deep, tasting salt and herself on her tongue.
“Deal,” he murmured against her lips. “But only if you keep wearing those leggings. Ripping them is half the fun.”
She smiled against his mouth, already reaching down to tug his zipper the rest of the way closed.
“Next weekend,” she promised. “Same time. Same house. And maybe… I’ll run a little slower.”