First Kiss With Miguel Bain

By Steph

I set the two heavy grocery bags down as my cold hands fumbled with the front door key. A car door opened on the street behind me, but I paid no attention. Not until I pushed the door open, did I hear the first footsteps. He grabbed my bags from behind me and pushed me into the entry hall with the force of his body. It happened so quickly, I had no time to scream. But the moment he dropped my bags, I yelled as loud as I could. "MY EGGS!" He locked the door in that same breath, then turned and said, "fuck your eggs, lady. Just shut up and I might not kill you." He was not quite 5'10" with dark locks that fell to his shoulders in chaotic waves. Two long curls hung in front of his face, which seemed familiar.

That's when I saw the gun beneath his open jacket. Then I remembered his face.

"You're Miguel Bain, the guy on the news yesterday."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he said, cocking his head and shaking it slowly, his lips pursed and his eyes wide with feigned sympathy. "Now I am going to have to kill you."

My mind worked quickly, clicking into survival mode. "Wait, what did you come here for anyway?"

"I need a place to hide. I've been in those trees across the street for two days, and I noticed you lived alone." He smiled and threw his head back. "Just you and your two cats. And Lady, I don't think they can protect you." He laughed wickedly, a high pitched laugh that told me he enjoyed my fear. Then he grabbed my arm and shoved me into the living room. Leaving the door open, he went back for the groceries, glancing at me as he looked into the bags.

"Two days?" I said. "You must be hungry."

"Very," he said, slowly, as much a growl as a word.

"Let me make you something."

He agreed, but refused to let me use a knife. Instead, he sliced the chicken into thin strips with neat strokes. As I prepared the sauce, I watched those smooth hands with well tended nails handle the knife with ease. He glanced at me and smiled, twisted the knife around each finger and drew in a quick breath of air through rounded lips. "I like knives," he cooed breathily.

A chill ran up my spine, then back down again, settling between my thighs. I stared at the knife and the soft hairs on the back of the hand that held it. "Me, too," I said.

Suddenly, like a cat, he leapt. I found myself face to face with the man who would be my murderer, the knife edge tickling the skin beneath my earlobe. Frozen with fear and an inexcusable excitement, I could feel his breath on my cheek, his free hand on my waist, the power of his dark eyed gaze on my heaving breasts. Slowly, I turned my head as he raised his eyes to meet mine. His breath came quickly, like a stallion's on a cold morning, loud and hot. My nipples hardened.

The knife slipped from his hand and he gripped my neck as if to strangle me. My mouth opened in anticipation. He leaned closer, his full lips close to mine. The intensity of lust in his eyes caused me to quiver. His teeth pinched my lower lip, then his tongue reached to taste the blood he had drawn. His hand moved upward from my waist to cup my left breast as his mouth explored my lips, pulling them in and sucking first the bottom, then top.

"Don't move," he whispered, a warning, a desire. I kept my arms still at my sides, but my hips leaned forward unconsciously. The hand that threatened my neck now moved into my thick curls. While he stepped forward and pushed me against the kitchen wall, his tongue found mine. He pushed his groin into my belly and his breath entered my lungs. I shuddered as his heat washed over me, then again as his mouth covered mine completely. I moaned, and his hand left my breast only long enough to rip the buttons off of my blouse with one quick pull.

That's when I made my move, and unzipped his pants.