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Perfect Shade of Lipstick

"Do you know what makes the best shade of lipstick?" Has nothing to do with the Cullens. 1204741731_red-spangle-lips.jpg picture by Babe7777 Banner made by the wonderfully amazing Emmett_Lover (!) UNDER RECONSTRUCTION! I've been re-working a LOt of it, in my head, so I will be changing things, some major some not so much. I reccomend re-reading once I re post the chapters. (Chapter 1 is new)


1. Chapter 2

Rating 5/5   Word Count 1016   Review this Chapter

Perfect Shade of Lipstick

“Do you know what makes the best shade of lipstick?” The woman asks the man cowering in front of her. Her lips a bright ruby as they lift into a smirk, the eyes of the man beneath her stiletto encased foot growing wide and terrified. Her beauty stilling the unfortunate man into silence, when just moments ago he had been enjoying messing around with her, the gorgeous woman from his favorite bar.

Slowly, leaving her foot on the mans muscled chest, she bends down into a squat, her dress riding up high on her thigh revealing smooth ivory skin. The man can’t help being distracted; she knows that soon all of his half covert glances will come to nothing. She traces a finger from his neck to his navel cutting his shirt open with a glinting crimson nail. The woman revels in the feel of his smooth perspiring skin beneath her hand. The man gasps as such a simple touch sends him insane with want, not that her heel is getting dangerously close to puncturing his diaphragm.

Removing her stiletto from his chest she straddles the man under her. Her already hiked dress moving farther up so it’s now bunched up at the bend of where her legs meet her torso, letting peek a small glimpse of lacy black wholesome underwear. Too easy, the woman thinks as she lowers her self down on the man’s pant trapped erection. From the moment she had walked into that downtown bar she had known he would play directly into her hand. She giggles with delight as the man’s heart beat accelerates. Leaning forward, she places her thin hands on either side of his neck, allowing as much cleavage as possible to protrude from her already plunging neck line. The man doesn’t even try to hide his stare, as he is entranced by her ‘awesome rack’. He can’t wait to brag about this latest conquest, thinking that she likes to play a bit before they get to the main event. He’s half right.

Chuckling, she bends her head down to his neck where she scrapes her lower teeth from his delectable collarbone to his Adams apple. Air whistles out of his throat in a moan, his hips grinding into hers, for she is still sitting on him. She kisses his neck hungrily, causing his eyes to roll back into his head a little.

Suddenly, her right hand whips out and grabs hold onto his throat. So quickly he doesn’t know how it happens she is standing with her strong arm holding him off the carpeted ground of his apartment by the neck. Terror seizes him as he looses oxygen and stares into her suddenly dilated eyes. The green of her iris being swallowed whole as the pupil soon takes up all of her eye, leaving no white or green left to see. Randomly he notices her necklace, the odd shaped charm resting in the hollow of her collarbone. Looking closer he see’s that it’s a teardrop shaped vile holding a familiar looking red liquid.

She pulls him in toward her, her inhumanly strong muscles hardly flexing. Opening her mouth she licks under his jaw, dragging her tongue to just under his ear. If the man wasn’t choking he would have grabbed her and flung her down on the nearby couch, removing as much of her limited clothing as possible. Instead he notices that as her tongue glides across his skin it leaves black char behind. Shit!, is all his mind is clear to think. It’s a pity, she thinks, that this twenty-three year old boy enjoys his whiskey too much.

Blood,” she whispers huskily into his ear, answering her own question, as her canines extend into fangs, grazing his earlobe sickeningly. “The color is perfect and it never leaves your lips dry.” The woman purrs, her fangs grazing and cutting a slit in the skin of his jaw, a trail of red beginning to drip down his throat. Her head lolls backward as her eyelids close in pleasure.

Using all of her infinite strength she slams the man into his high priced carpeted floor. Delicious, fills the air though nobody said a word. The sexy, strange woman throws herself down on him her fangs closing around and puncturing his jugular. She drinks, greedily. Quenching her thirst being more pleasurable than the sex the man was expecting, even though that would have been good too. Roughly she yanks his neck up, trying to consume as much of his blood as she can before it cools, even minutely.

Not even a drop of crimson blood does she leave in his body. Pulling away, she uncorks the vile from the hollow of her collarbone. The last trickle of blood leaking from his neck she pours into the vile, mixing it with the blood of her kill from yesterday. Luscious, is the only word that comes to her mind.

Replacing the vile to the chain around her neck she stands, lithely. Closing her eyes she wills herself to the mirror she saw when she entered the dead mans apartment, not wanting to waste time walking. Opening her eyes she watches as her eyes return to their human looking green. Uncorking the vile again she turns it over on her finger tip. Dabbing expertly she applies the dead man’s blood to her full lips. Putting more blood onto her index finger she presses it against the glass of the mirror. She writes a single word on the mirror, kisses it, and then proceeds out the front door, her stilettos clacking.

When the police arrive the next day they don’t find anything. No saliva (for she has none), no finger prints (for she doesn’t have those either), not even a strand of hair (for she is unable to loose any of her luscious dark hair). The only clue they get is a single word written onto a mirror in the dead man’s blood, with a kiss next to it.