PSYCHOPHILIA: A Disturbing Psychological Thriller by Michelle Muckley Read Free Book Online Page A

tombstone
shaped.  He isn’t smiling, but he looks almost like he is about to when his
gaze falls onto my breasts.  He lingers there a while and I feel my face flush because
he looks like he wants me.   I can’t remember when he last looked like he
wanted me.  He stands up from his chair and towers over me, casting me in
shadow.  He kneels at my side, and I can smell his sticky tobacco rich breath. 
He pushes his hand into my blouse, places his lips against mine and kisses me
hard, his mouth as wide as a lion.  With his other hand, which I noticed had
remained limp at his side until now, he grabs the back of my head.  His fingers
work through my hair until they make contact with my green scarf.  He grabs
this, choking me a little and I cough.  He seems to like it so I do it a bit
more, on purpose.  He pulls at my nipple and the flush that once filled my
cheeks has moved across my body and into my pelvis.  I feel as if he is
possessing me like a spirit, or a demon.  He is claiming me, his hands moulding
me as his own to become what he intended. 
    “This
is mine,” he says, whispering in my ear before licking the auricle and biting
the lobe.  His lips move along my neck, and as he pulls my breast out from
inside my white blouse, he moves his tongue towards it. 
    “I
am yours,” I whisper, thinking how easy it was all along to get him back, but as
I reach to return his kiss on the side of his face he withdraws his lips, pulling
me back with the scarf as if I have overstepped a line.  He stands up, adjusts
himself, as if he suddenly realised his mistake, as if he realises that he was
in the wrong place with the wrong woman.  I find that he is still staring at me
as I look up to him, my lips swollen red, and left breast hanging loose.
    “Thank
you,” he says, and turns to leave the room.  I am not sure what he is thanking
me for.  “Take a shower.  The first guests will be arriving shortly.”  For a
while his form blocks the door frame, his size filling the void between drawing
room and hallway.  He turns towards the direction of the stairs, and behind him
I see Ishiko standing there, this time her head upright staring straight back at
me.  I don’t know if she has been there all along but all thoughts of my own
arousal are cast aside as I am aware of my exposure and I pull at my blouse
gulping like a teenager caught by her parents.  As I cover myself she turns to
walk away.  She is following him.  For a few moments I sit in shock, aroused
and angry and full of blood.  I take a gulp of brandy, the cheap stuff, and sit
for a few moments more.  Several uncertain minutes pass.  I drink the other
brandy too.  It’s nicer.  I stand to find that Ishiko is no longer in the
hallway.  I glance into the dining room and see that she has laid the table for
our guests.  Simple white plates, unsuitable for venison or pheasant, or for
whatever the fuck Gregory has decided upon.  I climb the stairs, my breath
creeping in and out in short pulsations of Morse code.  The light isn’t on in
my bedroom and the door sits ajar.  I walk past.  The floorboards creak.  I
push the handle of the guest bedroom where Gregory assures me that he is half
living only for my convenience, and not because he is a cheating fucker of a
husband who I sometimes think about gutting in the night with the knife set
that he bought for me but cannot because he has since locked it away.  I can
hear the spray of the shower hitting the glass cubicle.  The steam is rising
out from behind the inner door which has been left open.  I push the door quietly
and see Gregory standing there, head down, arm against the wall with water
cascading over him and spraying off in all directions.  His other arm is moving
frantically and he is grunting like an animal.  Like a pig or a boar.  I stand
dumbfounded in the doorway, watching, half in the light, half in the dark.  I
am distracted only by Ishiko as she walks in behind me.  I turn