Chapter 34 - Chapter 33

# Chapter 33
THE BRIDGE KILLER

Her feet kick out on the icy path as she struggles beneath my iron grip on her throat. It's fast. Intense. Over in a heartbeat. One minute, she's clawing at my thick sleeves. Then the next, her struggle ceases, and she grows lax.

Silence descends.

I crack my neck, squeezing her slender throat. Her wildly thrashing pulse has stopped. And now, there's nothing beneath my fingertips.

Power thrums through my veins. I'm hard, and it annoys the hell out of me. I'm not a rapist. I don't stoop that low. But the urge to bury myself balls-deep inside her pussy has my teeth grinding together. I release her with a frustrated growl, pants wet from kneeling in the snow.

With every kill, the desire to defile my victims grows stronger. I want to rut. Grind my cock against her cunt to alleviate this sickening lust. Especially when she looks so much like her. I'm better than this, for fuck's sake. I create my own path. I don't fall victim to such petty desires when I have a much greater goal in mind.

I quickly strip off her clothes, and my cock aches inside my jeans when her brown tits are revealed. They're perfect.

Too perfect.

I squeeze one, watching the flesh mould beneath my grip. If she'd been alive, she'd cry out in pain, but she's not. She's dead.

Sitting back, I take a mental snapshot of her splayed out in the snow. Her dark hair reminds me of a halo, and her plump lips look made to swallow cock.

I sigh disappointedly when I spot the bruising on her neck. Normally, I'm careful to cause as little ruin as possible. My perfect display is not so perfect anymore.