No words are spoken. I simply pop the latch on her belt.

Willingly, she submits. Most do. They must think that this is all I want, that if they offer up no fight I’ll spare them.

Stupid bitches.

She’s a bit resistant when my hand slips down between her. I’m sure that the grip I have on the back of her neck is what get her to spread ‘em.

I don’t worry about leaving DNA, no one knows who I am. Ashley Davies is a ghost, a phantom. They could find all of the forensic evidence in the world, and they’d never have a clue. My DNA would be useless. You can’t arrest a person that doesn’t exist.

I pull out of her, sucking my fingers into my mouth before giving it another go. Its pretty useless. A natural consistency absorbs my saliva. You’d be surprised by how erotic fear can be.

Just as I feel her rising to her peek a hand comes up, digs itself into my neck. I don’t stop working as her nails break my skin. Her form of self-defense only turns me on more. I love it when they fight back.

When that unmistakable feeling of an orgasm wraps itself around my fingers I let her ride it out. Her nails seem to dig impossibly deeper into me.

I know this house, better than my own. I want to get her nails from under me, and I know exactly how to do it. The glass coffee table is simply one step back, and two steps to my left.

I utilize this knowledge. Bringing both of us a step back, spinning us in the direction of the table. My hands take hold of her forearms. I jerk her towards me to build up a bit of momentum before I throw her backwards, right into the glass table. It shatters on contact. Thankfully there isn’t much blood, I’ve never had much of a blood fetish, too messy for my liking.

She’s gasping, crying, hands run all across her body; checking the amount of damage as I kneel beside her. Wrapping my hands around her neck as she screams. No pressure is applied but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s in store.

"I’m p-pregnet!" She shouts, in one last desperate attempt to save what’s already lost.

After the first few minutes her struggle dies down, as does her pulse. It takes a while but eventually her once raging pulse disappears, almost as if it was never there. And I get that look, the look that completes this experience. The look that’s so real, so broken, so innocent, so lost, so… everything.

I’m not sure how much time I spend staring, memorizing every line of her dead face, but at some point I reach down and slip off her wedding band. I unfasten my necklace, and let the ring drop through along with the rest. Rings that keep my kills fresh in memory.

My ass meets the plush surface of one of the couches behind me. And just like that. In the blink of an eye the animal pulls at every part of my being. That low familiar rumbling telling me that before long it’ll need to feed again, before long I’ll need to kill again.

~~~

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