LIGHTNOVELONLINE 29. Crisis (4)
She pushed herself sideways out from under him, away from him. The man rolled onto his back. She observed him with a cold detachment as he did not attempt to move. His mouth carved a perpetual smile. Eyes closed. Lingering tears flowed, soaking the pillow underneath.
The cold detachment evaporated. His penis hung to one side. The sight of it in her mouth and her enjoying it, sucking his life, struck her as impossible. She refused to believe it. It had to be an illusion Zain had made to fool her; it had to be Zain. She’d never do this. She’d never do it of her own will. Not to Zain. And not to an innocent man.
Leila staggered to the bed’s side in a daze. She reached for his chest. He wasn't breathing, but what if he held it in?
No heartbeat to rattle her fingers. He died from a stab wound, right? The white bedsheet had a tinge of yellow—no red to corrupt.
Magic, then? A clear liquid lingered on his penis, and as she shuffled her legs, a warm, clear liquid leaked from her crotch. It was his; the sweet honey scent confirmed it. She did this. Sucked the life out of him... She leaned forward, and a hot, chunky liquid slammed against her mouth—a creaking came from the opposite end of the room.
She slumped to the floor on her stomach, silently swallowing.
“The Professor asked me to fetch you. He said to arrive an hour early, remember?" A man asked. Soft footsteps dragged into the dorm. Close. Closer. On the opposite side of the bed. Stopped. “Wa—did you sleep with another? Did I not tell you to let me have a turn?"
Soft footsteps rattled the floor again, and Leila crawled under the bed. The man stood at the end of the bed, an arm’s reach away. Chocolate tinged the air—the source… his crotch. Her nipples hardened, and her abdomen burned—a finger-sized flame.
“First night, and she even left a souvenir.”
He stepped close to the bed. If she had him, it'd be better than the last. His scent sweetened the idea, but reason kept her sane. He stopped with his ankles touching the bed's rim.
“Get up.” The bed shook. The mattress creaked. “Get that smile off your face.”
The creaking stopped, and the man stepped back. The bed rocked forward, and the floor thudded. White blocked her vision.
“Muran!”
Then his footsteps stomped away, and the door creaked open and shut. Silence overwhelmed the room.
Leila slipped out from under the bed and scanned the room. He was gone. Muran lay on the floor, covered by his bedsheets. The self-proclaimed souvenir was scrunched up in a pile on the floor opposite the bed—her red dress, bra, and panties.
She remembered a smile lighting her face as she swayed her hips, lowered her dress’s shoulder straps, and revealed her white bra in the dim orange light that set the mood for the night. As she snaked her fingers along her waist and then hips, the dress fell with her movements and flashed her white panties before piling on the floor. She wriggled her body as she pulled the panties, all for the man to witness—eyes glued to his. And with a slow brush of her fingers up her back, she unhooked the bra and released the tight hold on her breasts.
They bounced once and settled.
The man’s penis threatened to rip his pants. Instead of running away, she ran her arm across his thigh toward his erection; the other ran through his smooth hair and cupped his head, drawing him into her breasts.
Leila took long breaths to stem the memories from her mind. What did she need? To live. To escape. Clothes. She reached for her clothes and donned the lingerie. The scent of honey tickled her nose. Had they done it over her clothes? She shook the idea and ensured her gaze never landed on Muran, who lay there as proof of her deed.
She slung the last shoulder strap on.
Not enough.
The man had spotted the dress. A liability, she needed to hide it. But she didn’t have any other clothes. How about his clothes?
A wooden wardrobe stood against the wall beside the door. The idea of stealing from a man she had sucked dry repulsed her, and when she did, it shattered a fragile human part of her. She grabbed an overcoat and draped it over her shoulders. No more. She’d take no more from him.
The overcoat reached her thighs, concealing her arms within the sleeves. She exited the dorm. Wetness gathered in her crotch at the scent of the clothes. His scent. Even after stealing his life, her body still craved for him.
****
She navigated the halls and blended into the crowds. Her heart thrummed to the beat of her strides, her abdomen burning, but fear wasn’t what drove her. Somewhere buried, it sat untouched, waiting for her to take a bite. It was not hers to take. Thrill drove her—tinged with excitement.
Students eyed her in the crowd, and she eyed them back, smiling. Their eyes drifted south. They rested there. Typical—none, not one shed their eyes away, and Leila had no reason to either.
Oh my, their penis and pussies are so adorable. If only... Wait—Wait. Did I call them adorable? It's getting out of hand.
She tugged on the overcoat, pulling it closer and tighter around her. Everything blurred together, blending and twisting as she left the crowd, followed by her slouched footsteps, until she finally arrived at Freira's dorm. Inside, she locked eyes with Freira.
“Why did you tie me?” Freira asked as she tried to wriggle her way out. "And you did it with my clothes."
“I’ll untie you.”
Leila untied her wrists, then her legs.
“Night.” Leila tossed herself onto her bed, facing away from Freira, but she remained fixed on the window. Sunlight streamed in.
“Skipping again? You know, soon, that’ll catch up to you.”
“I know.”
“You know? No, you don’t.” Her footsteps plodded up to her, and she yanked at her arm. “If you knew, you’d diligently get to class on time. If you knew, you'd not forsake the opportunity you gained. Tell me, what is it?”
“I’m fine. Go to class.”
“Look at me.” She tugged. She always tugged. “You’re not fine. Something happened, and you’re going to tell me.”
She raised her hand to cup Leila’s face.
Leila seized her hand and threw her weight to the right, catapulting her across the bed toward the window. She sailed through the air, twisting with a cat’s flexibility, and with an explosive grunt, she slammed feet first into the window, bounced, and landed on the floor.
“Whoa…” She massaged her ankle. "I thought... you were done throwing me. Talk to me. We’re roommates—friends. Let me be in your life.”
“Night.”
Friends? Could a demon and a human be friends? Would she think the same way if she knew who she was and what she did? Or would she betray her with her back turned or, even worse, while she slept?
“Night.” She left.
Leila rolled onto her back. Had she thrown away the one person who’d help her? She was a mess to handle, which she countered with targeting the right spots. Were they friends? Had she made friends without knowing it? Had a demon become a human's friend?
Humans don’t make friends with demons… a tainted. She’d become tainted, and with the blood on her hands, she became a demon. If that were the case, if the Goddess forbade it, why don’t I kill myself?
She clutched her throat. Her thumbs crushed down on her trachea. She winced, pressing harder, harder, harder. She lost her breath.
Her head throbbed.
Her vision blurred, and the edges darkened.
Black overwhelmed.
As her hands sealed her airways, an eruption burst in her abdomen, ascending her spine and neck to her brain—it took control—she released her hands.
Zain.
It relinquished its grip. Her breaths burned her throat. No, it wasn’t Zain.
