All She Needed
By Carrie Daniels

“Stop it, just stop already,” she said as she climbed out of the bed. Her current lover sat back against the headboard, naked, with a quizzical look on his face. Haret slid into her black silk kimono-like robe and threw his pants at him. What a lousy fuck. She couldn’t believe she had brought this loser home.

“Get your clothes on and get out.” He wasn’t even worth courtesy.

“But I don’t even know where I am!” The guy pleaded.

He did have a point. She’d picked him up at the bar in her midnight blue Audi TT after a generous round of drinks for him and her friends. He was so suave at the club, but now he had turned into the human octopus, groping her various private parts indiscriminately. His style just completely reeked of eagerness and inexperience. She felt no pity. “You’ll figure it out.”

“But please, I’m sorry…”

Haret turned to face him, robe open, leaving her creamy white breasts and torso in full view. He looked at this sight, and then he realized she was holding a Smith & Wesson 9mm.

“Shit…Alright, alright, I’ll go, just please don’t kill me lady, Geezus.” He hurried into his clothes, grabbed his wallet from her nightstand and headed out the door.

This was pretty much the story of her life. Night after night, she sought satisfaction and found none. Men found her hard to resist, even though word was getting around that she was promiscuous and discarded used lovers like dirty diapers. Looking for love? Perhaps. Perhaps not. At 5’10”, with dazzling red hair and blue eyes, along with the creamy skin so much like alabaster, she was quite the attractive one everywhere she went. Intimidation was not on her agenda, but the other femmes found her that way.

Haret locked the door and sat down on the bed, rubbing her sweating palms on the black satin sheets, trying to stop shaking. Even though she had used him, she felt drained also. She looked at the clock. 2am. She returned the pistol to the nightstand drawer and dropping her robe at her feet, climbed back into bed alone.

6pm. Haret had only been awake for a few hours and was now readying herself for another long night of hunting. She searched the city night after night for the right one…

The phone rang. It was her mother. She listened politely for a time before finally excusing herself, claiming some previous engagement to which she going to be late to. Mom expressed her concern and love, then hung up.

Lonely? Not Haret. A loner she was, seeking only the heat of a man to keep her bed warm at night. She asked not for commitment, but for simple things in the preliminary ...endurance, stamina, strength. She looked at her watch. It was time to go again.

Her high-heels clicked hollowly on the concrete as she made her way through the dimly-lit parking garage, slinking past the silent hulking metal beasts like a panther. SUV’s abounded. Her TT was nestled safely in the corner, out of the way of incompetent motorists and the inevitable damage that was possible.

The air felt wonderful as it blew in through the open windows at seventy-five miles an hour. The moon shone through her windshield, sparkling on the crushed velvet of her dress and the smooth leather interior of the automobile.

She became the huntress, the red rising within. She was dressed in a dark red velvet long sleeved dress with draped bell sleeves, with a silver chain clasped at her throat that her father had given to her the year before he died.

Club 22 was to be the bed of sin that she visited tonight. She’d visited it before, but on a slow night. Being a Saturday night should make all the difference. She wove through the crowd, ignoring the stares and gazes of adoration that she seemed to get all the time and headed straight for the bar. The bar was an oasis in the midst of the desert of lack of good candidates in this area. Dorks, geeks and dickheads were plentiful. Until she saw him.

He moved with such grace, such sophistication. His flaming red hair was like a neon sign in the night to Haret. She got up from her stool and let herself be drawn by the immense magnetism and charisma of him. He looked up as she drew near, her palms sweating already. The corners of his mouth crinkled as he broke into a blinding smile.

“Why, it’s beauty in the purest form that stands before me here. Hello love.”

Haret, usually well-versed and communicative, said nothing. She simply stood there with heat in her lungs and her heart pounding as she took in this human sun that was blazing brightly at this table in the otherwise dark and dreary club. He raised his drink, Jack and Coke, to his lips and took a gentle swill. He motioned for her to sit and she did.

“What will you be having, my lady?” His voice was like butter on his lips.

Haret opened her mouth finally, to speak the first words that this man would ever hear, and they were: “7up and Vodka.”

He squeezed her hand affectionately and informed the waiter. While they waited, she sat there, voiceless, unable to find any words to convey her thoughts or wishes. He did most of the talking. His name was Herat. He was from the East, but had traveled many continents and countries in his endeavors. The globe was his path, and he walked it with confidence. He held and kissed her cheek, all the while she kept rubbing her palms on her dress underneath the table. Anxiety caused that.

The moon filtered into his private suite through the immense wall of windows. He held out a glass of Chardonnay to her, which she accepted. She walked around the length of the room, dazzled by the intricate panels of ceramic mosaics fitted into the ceiling. The suite was furnished in simplicity, the designer obviously going for minimalism blended with exagerrated antiquity. They had succeeded.

The simple metal chairs rested in harmony with the massive oak Middle Century dining table, seating at least eight. The television was in the corner, implying infrequent usage. Books were dominantly abundant here. Books lined countless shelves, were cradled in racks and filled baskets sitting on the floor. Herat smiled as she eased across the room and into his heart.

Her skin was so soft in the dark as he held her close. Their breathing had gotten deeper, more breathless so it seemed. He was about to enter her, Haret’s back was arched as she waited ready. She was a lioness, her auburn mane trailed delicate cascades of tresses down her pale back. He held her firmly by the hips as he slid into her, feeling the intense and amazing heat deep inside her.

Like a well-oiled machine with stainless steel pistons, they rocked in synocracy with one another. She turned onto her back and invited him in again with delicate spread legs. He obliged her over and over again, licking her skin, her nipples, her breasts, kissing so hard and deep. Sweat was pouring from every pore in his body, spilling onto her flawless skin. They were wrapped in each other’s heated embrace.

“Herat,” she cried. She called to him from beneath him, clutching him tightly and clawing his chest, wanting, needing this. He thrust harder and harder, entering with greater force than before. A manic frenzy of electric emotions. A build-up of tensions, like a coiled spring, sending delicious shivers down her back. He lifted her hips in his desire to fill her even more. The anticipation was almost too much. The tendons in her neck stood out like steel wires as her orgasm escalated, and a deep moan rose in her throat. Then it happened.

Stars burst in her vision and liquid fire spread through her veins. She screamed an earth-shattering scream and fell silent. He finished his own climax just seconds later. She lay there, legs trembling, teeth chattering, head pounding. Herat was beside her now. The night was finally over.

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Carrie Dannels is a 25 year old female living in Austin, Texas with her husband and two year old daughter. This is her first submission professionally, but a novel is in the works.