Wine and Gun

Some part of these wild thoughts made Albarino want to smile involuntarily, as he unbuckled the buckle with his fingers, and with great difficulty removed the dagger and nylon strap from Herstal's leg, flattening it. placed on the floor. At the same time, Herstal's knife moved away from Albarino's neck and shoulder, and the blade landed lightly on Albarino's face.

Herstal patted his cheek with a knife: "Reciprocity."

Albarino smiled at him and slowly pulled back his jacket to show him the underarm holster he had hidden under the jacket.

"Is this the 'everyday item' you brought back to the Forensic Office?" Herstal asked.

"I'm a concealed gun holder after all, so why not?" Albarino asked easily, as he seemed to take off the dripping drippings without hesitation, and piled all the leather on the holster. Above, the dripping leather would soak the wooden floor and deform it, but no one in the two of them seemed to really care about that.

Herstal looked down at Albarino, who was so wet and calmly kneeling at his feet, his hair looked extremely black after being wet by the rain, and a faint complexion could be seen under his soaked shirt. Of course he wouldn't be stupid enough to think that this was a sign of weakness, and he certainly wouldn't feel that he had the upper hand when the knife was still on the opponent.

Albarino's hand was still on his ankle, and he moved up there slowly and erotically, wondering if the intention was simply to look like him or to search for other weapons he was hiding. : Anyway, after taking off his suit jacket, all he has left is his shirt and vest, so he can see it all at a glance.

"When I first joined, I didn't know it was a game like this," Herstal whispered.

"It's no more dangerous than having Bob Langdon disemboweled and hanging on the wall, and I thought you were having fun, too." Albarino raised his head and said in an almost innocent voice, shining brightly. The blade of his blade was near his chin, looking like a ray of light in the darkness.

Albarino's fingers were like white larvae breaking their shells out of the darkness, and his fingers moved gently, the rustling of the cloth curled at the fingertips, and slowly crawled over Herstal's legs. Then, he slowly moved his fingers to the protrusions between Herstal's legs, squeezing the steaming hot fabric with the heels of his palms.

"Nüè madness, carnival killing... right? Those profilers in the FBI would say that." Albarino said briskly, "I don't know how you started, but it's clear that by now, you It's impossible to stop if you want to. You're driven by a passion that's unfamiliar and uncontrollable to me, and in that sense, you're more likely to go wrong than I am."

His fingers were slowly unfastening Herstal's belt buckle and pulling the whole belt out, Herstal looking at Albarino and the blade of the little skin that gleamed at the corner of his lips Reflecting the light, he let out an unbelievable sneer.

"I'm afraid most people wouldn't judge the two of us like this, given that everything we are facing now is initiated by you." Herstal replied. He said it sincerely: Albarino Bacchus' enthusiasm was surging and fast, think about it, he realized only last month that Herstal might be a Westland pianist, and now They have already developed to this point.

Albarino smiled leniently: "But I know how to stop."

(Olga Molozze once said, "The Sunday gardener is perfectly capable of stopping crime, but he just doesn't want to choose that. He just doesn't care, can you imagine?")

"Stop it all by killing me?" Herstal sneered, he didn't think what they were doing now - whatever it was, he couldn't make out Albarino's utterly crazy head What was he thinking - to end in a peaceful way, what he was doing could never end peacefully.

It's just that Albarino was right, he really couldn't stop.

Albarino put his leash on the floor too, in a position that made his legs tingle, holding Herstal's hipbone.

"Many ways—every way you can think of, with a little imagination," Albarino said slowly, licking his lower lip with the tip of his tongue, his mint green eyes filled with a dull, aggressive look. Sexual things, "Okay, Mr. Armalite, if you're willing to put down this knife, I can lick your diǎo like licking your fingers."

His words were a bit more obscene than Herstal could have imagined—the gangster lawyer had of course seen a lot of foul-mouthed people on the job, each far more rude than Albarino, but he was real It was unexpected that Albarino would say such words so easily.

"Your recent behavior—especially your provocative behavior has made me suspect that you have histrionic personality disorder, Albarino," Herstal said, as if he didn't intend to hide the hoarseness in his voice.

"Don't act like you don't want it by blaming me." Albarino smiled back at him, "We all know the fact that the Westland pianist never sexually assaulted his victims, but it doesn't It doesn't mean he's not a nüè maniac, and it doesn't mean he's not a pervert. The logic is clear, isn't it?"

Search [Book Reading Assistant] official address: www.kanshuzhushou.com Millions of popular books are free to read for life without advertisements!