Irreparable Diagnosis: Chapter Six
That dress looked better on her after all, thought Barnes, observing the crumpled-up evening gown on the floor next to his bed. He glanced over at Lana, who slept peacefully, having achieved what she'd set out to accomplish.
***
She had arrived shortly before his order of egg rolls and Szechuan beef. Chet, steak knife concealed behind his back in his left hand, twenty-three dollars in a crumpled wad in his right, simultaneously sighed in relief and tensed up in confusion.
Lana, for her part, wasn't expecting Chet to answer the door shirtless. She gasped, catching sight of his sculpted abdominals, until she noticed the fresh bruising on his chest. "Oh, Chet! What happened to you?"
"I don't want to talk about it." Barnes set the steak knife on a small table beside the door, letting it and the wad of cash rest atop a stack of unopened bills. He ushered her in, watching her move to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of red wine and pack ice into dishrags.
Lana returned to the living room, approached Chet, seated on the patent leather couch, and tended to his various scrapes and bruises. She flashed her eyes at him. "You tell me what this is about."
Barnes recounted his tussle in the parking garage, pausing midway to pay for his dinner and split some of the #16 with beef with Lana. Lana took advantage of the intermissions to refill her glass.
"Poor little niño," she cooed, inching closer to her half-naked colleague. She threw back the remnants of her mostly empty glass of Merlot and mounted Chet. "Mami knows how to make it all better. I've got a medical license, remember?"
Barnes winced. Lana had landed on a couple of bruises, and he was positive that she was sensually running her hands over what must be a couple broken ribs. He put up a hand in instinctive defense, as to push her away, but his left hand landed on her right breast, which only spurred her on.
Mistaking his gasps of pain for pleasure, Lana thrust her lips upon his; she continued to assume his moans spawned from lust rather than the sore spot where a stranger's fist had earlier connected.
Chet knew he was powerless to stop what came next; he was chum in the water, and she was the very sexual aquatic predator. He rose from the couch, Lana hanging from his neck and legs interlocked around his waist, and retired to the bedroom.
The formalities cast aside, the foreplay was instinctual, feral. Lana, having foregone undergarments, oozed out of her dress and onto the bed, pulling Chet along with her. She easily stripped him of his pajama pants and boxer-briefs.
Chet was in pain. All-over pain. As if the bruises weren't enough, Lana clawed at his back. She was unrelenting, and he knew he had to muster up whatever resolve he had left to satiate her.
Chet, voiding out every bolt of pain from every muscle's flex, lifted her bronzed body and flipped Lana on her back, a move that both infuriated and excited her. She bucked and fought beneath him, yet she invitingly opened her legs.
Barnes was a physical wreck, but he mustered his virility; after all, he couldn't disappoint a beautiful woman. His member tumescent, he entered Lana, and in return she dug her scarlet nails into his shoulder blades. He grunted through the pain, she answered in moans of ecstasy.
They matched each others' intensity, opposing energies becoming one: Yin and Yang, Shiva and Kali, Leroy and Loretta. In their shared moment they were lost in eternity.
Twelve minutes later, soaked in a broth of sundry fluids, they passed out.
***
The sun streamed through Barnes' bedroom windows, the sunlight falling across Lana's voluptuous breasts, rising and falling with each silent snore. But he could only see a mystery corpse, a corpse that must lead to a dangerous secret.
Chet gently kissed her forehead and slipped out of his bed. He had work to do. Pathological work.
***
She had arrived shortly before his order of egg rolls and Szechuan beef. Chet, steak knife concealed behind his back in his left hand, twenty-three dollars in a crumpled wad in his right, simultaneously sighed in relief and tensed up in confusion.
Lana, for her part, wasn't expecting Chet to answer the door shirtless. She gasped, catching sight of his sculpted abdominals, until she noticed the fresh bruising on his chest. "Oh, Chet! What happened to you?"
"I don't want to talk about it." Barnes set the steak knife on a small table beside the door, letting it and the wad of cash rest atop a stack of unopened bills. He ushered her in, watching her move to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of red wine and pack ice into dishrags.
Lana returned to the living room, approached Chet, seated on the patent leather couch, and tended to his various scrapes and bruises. She flashed her eyes at him. "You tell me what this is about."
Barnes recounted his tussle in the parking garage, pausing midway to pay for his dinner and split some of the #16 with beef with Lana. Lana took advantage of the intermissions to refill her glass.
"Poor little niño," she cooed, inching closer to her half-naked colleague. She threw back the remnants of her mostly empty glass of Merlot and mounted Chet. "Mami knows how to make it all better. I've got a medical license, remember?"
Barnes winced. Lana had landed on a couple of bruises, and he was positive that she was sensually running her hands over what must be a couple broken ribs. He put up a hand in instinctive defense, as to push her away, but his left hand landed on her right breast, which only spurred her on.
Mistaking his gasps of pain for pleasure, Lana thrust her lips upon his; she continued to assume his moans spawned from lust rather than the sore spot where a stranger's fist had earlier connected.
Chet knew he was powerless to stop what came next; he was chum in the water, and she was the very sexual aquatic predator. He rose from the couch, Lana hanging from his neck and legs interlocked around his waist, and retired to the bedroom.
The formalities cast aside, the foreplay was instinctual, feral. Lana, having foregone undergarments, oozed out of her dress and onto the bed, pulling Chet along with her. She easily stripped him of his pajama pants and boxer-briefs.
Chet was in pain. All-over pain. As if the bruises weren't enough, Lana clawed at his back. She was unrelenting, and he knew he had to muster up whatever resolve he had left to satiate her.
Chet, voiding out every bolt of pain from every muscle's flex, lifted her bronzed body and flipped Lana on her back, a move that both infuriated and excited her. She bucked and fought beneath him, yet she invitingly opened her legs.
Barnes was a physical wreck, but he mustered his virility; after all, he couldn't disappoint a beautiful woman. His member tumescent, he entered Lana, and in return she dug her scarlet nails into his shoulder blades. He grunted through the pain, she answered in moans of ecstasy.
They matched each others' intensity, opposing energies becoming one: Yin and Yang, Shiva and Kali, Leroy and Loretta. In their shared moment they were lost in eternity.
Twelve minutes later, soaked in a broth of sundry fluids, they passed out.
***
The sun streamed through Barnes' bedroom windows, the sunlight falling across Lana's voluptuous breasts, rising and falling with each silent snore. But he could only see a mystery corpse, a corpse that must lead to a dangerous secret.
Chet gently kissed her forehead and slipped out of his bed. He had work to do. Pathological work.