Kiss and Kill

She liked to say her mouth was a weapon — soft, warm, sweet enough to make any man drop his guard. I knew that the first time she kissed me in the club bathroom, lipstick smudged on my throat like blood she’d wipe clean before sunrise.

We weren’t supposed to meet again. One kiss — a dare, a secret she’d bury under her tight dress and high heels. But she called. And I answered.

Tonight, she let me pick the room — cheap hotel, same as always. She wore red, same as always. Her perfume hit first, then her nails dragging across my jaw, tugging my lips down to hers before I could ask why me?

She tasted like sin — cinnamon vodka, cheap cigarettes, and lies. Her tongue slid past my lips like a promise she’d never keep. I should’ve known. Maybe I did.

She pressed me down on the bed, straddling my hips, grinding so slow I almost forgot my own name. She liked it when I begged — liked the way my hands trembled when I traced the curve of her hips under that dress.

“Tell me you love me,” she breathed into my mouth, her lips brushing mine like poison.

“I love you,” I lied. Her smile was sharp enough to cut.

She kissed me harder, swallowing my words, stealing my breath until my chest ached for air I didn’t want if she wouldn’t give it. Her fingers slid into my hair, tugging just enough to hurt. Her hips rolled, heat building between us like a fuse waiting for a spark.

“Close your eyes,” she whispered. So soft. So final.

I did. Because when her mouth was on mine, I believed her. I forgot the warnings — the whispers that men who tasted her lips didn’t taste the morning. I felt her reach behind her back, something cold brushing my ribs. A click. A flash of fear that vanished when her tongue tangled with mine again.

Her kiss deepened — wetter, messier, desperate. She moaned my name like a promise of forever. The blade slipped under my ribs before I felt the pain. Just heat — heat and her mouth, salt and metal mixing on my tongue.

She held me down as my blood warmed the sheets. Kissed me like a lover. Killed me like a prayer.

Her lipstick was perfect when she stood. Red on her mouth, red on my throat, red on her knife.

She liked to say her mouth was a weapon.

Tonight, she proved it.