Four writers for the price of one blog
She didn’t pull the sheet over herself after we finished. I couldn’t tell whether it was pride or exhaustion.
Her breasts lay bruised and flushed over her ribcage as she lit her cigarette. As she took her first drag, they quivered in a way that made me jealous. She offered me the battered pack. I shook my head.
“You don’t smoke?”
“No. But I don’t mind if others do.”
“You lying to make me feel better for not asking beforehand?”
“Not at all. The scent makes me…nostalgic.”
She blew a smoke ring and pierced it with the burning cherry, a blatantly sexual mannerism. I didn’t know anymore whether it was the smoke that made my throat seize.
She looked at the sweat drying on my belly, then down at my pussy, which were still messy and swollen with orgasm. “It’s both repulsive and delicious, like most good things are.”
She was clever, and that hard to find nowadays. At least, the clever that wasn’t also cruel. Thus far, her cruelty had only gone so far as stopping mid-fuck for a drink. That had ended better than I imagined. My only complaint is that I’d warmed her tongue too quickly.
The only sound was the soft pop and crackle of burning tobacco and the whir of her ceiling fan, which struggled to blow the humid air. She scrutinized my body as the cigarette shortened. I surprised myself by opening up to it, although it was intense in a way that rivaled the heat. It felt good – an offering I’d wanted to make, but hadn’t found anyone worthy of giving it to.
She’d brought me to my knees in six hours.
She rubbed my belly with tobacco-stained fingertips. At first they were gentle, but then they sank deep into the hollow between my hip bones.
“Hard to believe you’re so… new. There’s still a bit of sour to your sweet,” she said as she blew out her last lungful of smoke. “I really like that.”
She threw the cigarette into a half empty water bottle, never letting go of me. I looked at the pale softness of her belly, so different from mine, but knew that she was aching too. Today we’d compare pains without a word.
Her mouth met mine before the last curl of smoke had dissipated.