Wine and Gun

Albarino leaned forward, put his lips slowly between his crotch, and squeezed the hot bulge in Herstal's crotch with his chin in a dàng motion - Herstal's warning The ground made a short breath, mainly because he didn't realize that Albarino would make such a move, and the blade left a small scratch on Albarino's throat.

It was a long, silent second, and Albarino's lips suggestively circled the fabric of the trousers, and began licking the dark fabric with the tip of his tongue; and Herstal Staring at the tip of the blade: still pressed into the skin, a thin line of blood slowly ran down the blade.

"Think about that suburban láng, Herstal." Albarino's voice was indistinct among the fabrics, but Herstal still discerned those pleasant smiles, "Compared to it, Putting your hand in Bob Langdon's chest makes you more sexual, doesn't it?"

He paused, and the next sentence came out from between his lips like a breathy voice: "Or, when you stab the knife in my throat, will it feel more numb?"

At that moment, two things happened almost at the same time—

Herstal's knife fell to the ground with a thud, and his hands were tangled in Albarino's wet brown hair; at the same time, Albarino, with that defiant smile, pinched Herstad. Er's waist, and unzipped Herstal's trousers with his teeth.

This inevitably reminds one of the night when Herstal went to give the kidnappers a ransom, Albarino knelt on the ground and asked, "Would you be more surprised if I opened your pants chain with my teeth now?"

——The answer can be answered now: he did not.

Herstal didn't feel very surprised. I don't know if he was subconsciously telling him that if you got into a mental illness like Albarino, then things like this would always happen; or something else took the surprise out of his mind. Squeezed out: This mainly refers to Albarino's lips.

Albarino's unbuttoning man's pants is dubiously skilled, but well, a lot of people have said in front of Herstal that this man "has a lot of nightlife", don't know how many times he's done it .

"What about the agreed AIDS test report?" Herstal squeezed a sarcastic gasp from his throat, even when he was able to do anything with such a dismissive tone.

At that time, Albarino was letting go of his hand so that Herstal's trousers would naturally fall to his knees, and he snorted: "Sarah doesn't have AIDS, if she has, the autopsy report will say-- Besides, I said something like 'three dates' last time, so are you only asking about AIDS?"

Okay, the two of them are obviously the type to talk about AIDS and Albarino's dead ex-girlfriend before a hot blowjob. Albarino tried to laugh as he hurriedly reached out and undid Herstal's shirt clips: shirt clips, oh my god, three clips on one side, the lower straps fastened to the black nylon loops on the thighs, pale The contrast between the skin and the black cloth is dizzying.

He undid the clips, allowing the straps to continue wobbly over Herstal's legs, fingers tentatively pinching his legs. The muscles on this man must be strong, otherwise he would not be able to put a man the size of Richard Norman on the stake, but the flesh of the legs is still soft.

He didn't hide his playful attitude, and Herstal's fingers curled up in his hair, exerting a slight force that made him feel a tingle. Herstal's voice still sounded cold, as if his erect yīnjīng hadn't poked someone else's nose through the fabric, and he said, "You've eaten with me more than three times a long time ago."

Albarino heard a hint of urgency in this voice, which is definitely not the case for Herstal, but obviously for a nüè killer, such a hunting night is very... exciting. He could imagine the frenzy in those blue eyes as he disemboweled the victim, so he smiled and pinched the other man's leg -- strong enough to leave a bruise -- in the The other's throbbing inhalation freed Herstal's cock from the shackles of the fabric.

Albarino glanced up again, Herstal tugging at his hair, his thumb slowly running across his cheekbones. The dark color in the eyes of the pianist is worth remembering and captivating. Albarino pruned the types of flowers in his mind, and made new entries in his notes. There was no suitable choice worthy of these eyes.

Then he grabbed the head of the organ and slowly took it in.

Albarino tasted the salty taste of sweat and body fluids, but the other's skin didn't smell much. Anyway, this guy was either a clean freak or an obsessive compulsive. He had already felt it from the layout of Herstal's apartment and office.

What enveloped him was more of the smell of blood, emanating from Herstal's hand clutching his hair, from the blood-stained shirt cufflinks. There were whitish self-mutilation scars shrouded under those fabrics, and the man had a tooth-marked scar on his throat; the discreet form of the three-piece set buried his secrets—not every murderous man with spiritual illness started out It's all like that, and Albarino knows it well.

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