52. Little Wing #2
I don’t need him to make love.
I just need a quick rub,
get it out of my system,
get the day going.
But then he’s moving slow, taking one fat, soaked lip into his mouth.
He sucks lazy,
tongue sliding along the seam
until my hips are lifting off the mattress.
His hot breath crosses over my clit
when he moves to the other side, dragging my plump lip into his mouth with a hum. My hand crashes over his to pin myself down.
But then he’s licking me open,
hot tongue spreading me wide,
and there goes my brain—
suddenly
can’t remember my own name.
It starts dim inside me,
the glow warm and growing.
They’re lazy morning-slow licks
grazing across my clit,
all heavy tongue from a steamed mouth.
Then this glow flares higher,
burning through me like the first rays hitting glass towers.
A whimper shudders out of me simply from his hot breath fogging over my pussy, from the long pulls of his tongue.
The orgasm spreads the way morning spills across the city—
gold crawling through black,
flooding everything in its path.
“Drew,” I rasp,
my fingers raking slow down his arm.
His nose slides up my slit with a hum, breathing me in, chest stuttering, and he groans, wrapped up in the smell and taste of me.
My body’s sprinting for release,
but my heart’s stalling.
I don’t want it over yet.
I want to stay here, and that’s not me.
It’s the way he’s holding me in his mouth—
lips open,
my clit resting there,
tongue crawling warm.
It’s ripping me apart.
And the more unrushed,
the faster the sun climbs my spine,
heating me from the inside out.
He looks up with hooded, ruined bedroom eyes right as his tongue rakes slow, pulling all my slick into his mouth.
When his tongue drags over my clit again, my body folds, and I’m shaking into him.
The heat bleeds under the horizon,
blinding, hot, impossible to fight back.
My arm comes over my moan.
I bite my skin to smother it.
“Drew, don't stop,” I choke out,
knowing as soon as I come, it's over.
I shake my head from side to side.
“Don't let me go.”
His hand slides up, up, up
until he’s gripping my shoulder,
thumb brushing the column of my throat.
“Never, baby,” he rasps into my slit.
And when he pulls me into his mouth—
tongue, teeth, and all—
my hips grind into his lips.
Until it’s exploding out of me,
gold and brutal and endless.
Andrew moans when I come, the vibrations shaking hot between my thighs.
Hand on my shoulder, he pins me to his mouth, eating me slow as the climax leaks through me.
Right behind it comes that violent ache again, that sick craving for him to be inside me.
It makes my face hot, my throat tight.
I claw the sheets,
trying to hide how desperate I am for it,
how empty I feel without him inside me.
Then he crawls up the length of me,
his warm chest covering over my chest,
fingers sweeping down my scalp.
The taste of me trembles hot off his lips
as his two fingers push inside me.
Until they bottom out.
Until he’s holding my pussy in his hand,
stroking me slow
as my climax pulses around him.
It’s scary how he always knows what I need. As if he’s figured out that the only safe way for me to let go now,
is when I’m bound to him.
I taste myself on his shaky exhale.
Sweet. Ocean-air light.
Morning-fuck filthy.
“Good fuckin’ mornin’, baby,” he murmurs.
My smile breaks,
pressing up against his.
“YO, ALLIE! Why you got Darryl buried in the dirt of this—this plant pot?!” Celie shouts from the kitchen. “He grounded or some shit? The poor bastard’s lookin’ at me like ‘help me!’”
Sat, Dec 14 12:46 PM
Andrew
Andrew. Need you now.
I'm all yours. Five minutes out
6:32 PM
Need you now.
Omw
Mon, Dec 16 12:26 PM
Need you now.
Perfect. It's lunchtime and I'm hungry
5:26 PM
Need you now.
Fucking same
Drew. All I want is you.
Only you. All the time.
His eyes drop to his phone under the bar.
the moment he reads it,
He lowers the Jim Beam,
his mouth twitching around a smile,
face heating, pink flooding his ears.
He glances around to see if anybody noticed.
Yeah? Only me?
Then tell me where my girl is
Look up.
His eyes sweep the bar like a searchlight, snagging on mine in the corner by the window, then his expression caves in.
Each time, it starts the same:
dirty texts,
stolen glances
during borrowed seconds,
eyes flicking up into mirrors,
micro-smirks across a room
of thirty strangers,
don’t-move looks pinned to me
as back-room doors swing shut.
Each time,
our eyes find each other in crowds,
across streets,
in too-big lobbies,
soon as elevator doors open,
in the dark of my bedroom
at four in the morning.
Each time, he’s snatching my hand,
taking me down halls,
dragging me around corners,
slamming me against walls,
pulling me into backseats,
barely waiting for elevator doors to close,
slipping between cool sheets.
Each time, I try to catch my breath
as his fingers trail up my thighs.
His middle hooks my panties,
my damp sticking to his skin.
Each time, he spreads me wider, wider.
‘Til my slit yawns open.
‘Til the heat hits his palm.
‘Til his fingers graze my clit.
And in the middle of the nights,
he murmurs baby against my throat
while sinking his fingers between my folds,
parting me open, soaking in it.
Doesn’t matter where we are:
“Fuuuck, baby…”
“Andrew…”
“I’ll do some real embarrassin’ shit you keep doin’ that grind thing.
“I’m serious. I’ll fuckin' blow in my work pants, baby—stop.”
“Andrew... stay. Right there.”
“Not lettin' go.”
“Andrew.”
“Nah... Not yet.”
“Andrew.”
“…Shh…”
“Andrew.”
“Fuckin' louder.”
“Andrew!”
“Fuck—you sound so fuckin’ good when I’m touchin’ you.”
Then he’s falling to his knees,
hitting the carpet,
the sticky bar tile,
the elevator’s herringbone hardwood,
the penthouse marble,
the city streets,
tongue skimming my split open seam,
slow, erotic strokes.
Each time, my pussy gets hotter, wetter,
blood pumping and swelling sweet in his mouth,
lips sealing over my clit,
tongue rolling underneath,
sucking slow.
Each time gets messier,
his hand gliding up to my chest,
palm spread over my heartbeat,
my fingers fisting his hair,
moan, beg, curse, hiss,
my slick clinging to his lips.
My gaze falling, his gaze rising,
eyes catching,
holding,
I come fierce.
Every time.
And he can’t leave
without licking his fingers,
without stuffing panties into his pockets,
without glancing back,
without his fucking smirk,
without leaving me heaving,
without texting: ‘that little look you gave me before you walked out? Yeah. That was the hottest fucking thing I ever seen’
without me hiding my throw up,
rushing to bathrooms,
folding over toilets,
trash cans, grass, back alleys,
brown paper bags in the backseat.
I wipe my mouth, still smiling.
And it’s like that for four days.
Then by Thursday, 12:03 p.m.,
it’s:
Andrew
Need you now
Already here.
// DEC 19, 3:47 AM - PENTHOUSE - UPPER EAST SIDE, NYC //
It’s the middle of the night, 3:47 AM, and I’m leaving my writing studio right as Andrew comes in from the Clover.
I turn to punch the code to lock the room up again.
“What’re you hidin’ in there?” he asks.
I freeze, staring at the keypad.
I’ve never let anyone in this room before.
It stays locked. Always.
But here I am,
hand on the knob,
loathing the way I’m debating
letting him in.
Once he sets foot inside,
he’ll leave imprints behind.
Then, once he leaves my life,
those imprints become scars.
Memories I can’t erase.
Because he will one day leave.
The contract will one day end.
It always ends.
It’s the only certain thing.
And now he’s already everywhere.
In this penthouse. In my room.
Under my sheets. Under my skin.