1. The lift descending


    Date: 10/2/2014, Categories: Love Stories, Author: Alexandra_A, Rating: 9, Source: LushStories

    hissed intimate whisper, the word 'come' was imbued with an incredible intensity. It swirled within me, drew important resources from my centre and out to an unknown periphery. I struggled to maintain an impassive demeanour. 'Ma'am, the war is over and I am no longer a soldier.' Her brief laugh carried easily quantifiable humectants into my respiratory tract along with traces of complex organic chains that were harder to analyse. Standing on tiptoes, cheek pressed to my chest, and still clinging tightly to my unyielding body, she softly and sweetly sang a stanza from a once-popular protest song. 'A soldier in a suit is just a soldier with no boots, He's still a soldier when he shoots your sorry ass.' I rolled my eyes, held out my hands and shook my head. 'I have no gun, Ma'am.' She retorted immediately and with blatant incredulity. 'You sure?' Outside, the clouds had grown thicker. The scorched surface was surely no more than twenty minutes beneath us. A quick glance at the altimeter confirmed my observations. I again shook my head. 'I assure you, I was a soldier long enough to know a gun when I see one. And besides, this cabin was searched. You and I were both meticulously searched.' She winced at the memory and, inexplicably, I found myself enjoying her discomfort. 'Ma'am, there are no guns for a hundred miles.' 'There are guns, and there are guns ...' A finger jabbed my chest. 'You are packing, soldier, I know it. I can... feel it.' Her brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, ...
    and she gazed up into my face. 'Yet you try to deceive me' She was mocking me, yet I could not grasp the core of her jest. I countered, best I could. 'There is an element of deceit in everything. Nothing is at face value. To acknowledge this fact is an essential of survival.' Again, her retort was immediate. 'Well, you would know. You survived. You survived everything.' More unwanted images flashed before my open eyes. 'Yes, I did.' 'How many did you kill?' 'Ma'am, the numbers are not..' 'How many?' The power of her delivery fired a fine spray of saliva into my face. I resisted the unconscious urge to wipe my eyes. 'Six hundred...' Though I had barely started, she was already incredulous. 'Six hundred?' 'And fifty-three thousand, seven hundred and...' Her eyes flared with momentary hatred. The fire was quickly quenched by what appeared to be a wave of morbid curiosity. She released her grip on me and stepped away, the loss of her weight and heat leaving a gaping void in my senses. Her pained voice tore another hole. 'You have killed... over half a million?' My shoulders shrugged. I remained matter of fact. 'Yes. But I had some help. I wasn't working entirely alone.' My ex-president rested her rear on the arm of the couch, closed her eyes and bowed her head. Her raven hair now hid her perfect features, became a shield for her emotions. With fascination, I noticed how its blue sheen reflected the swiftly passing clouds. Her sigh, though almost silent, filled our tiny space to ...
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