“Well, what do you wanna do then?” Her thick, ombré lips part for the vape, and she draws on it with a level of disdain and nonchalance in her eyes that makes me feel unwanted, unneeded, and unwelcome. Yet, this is who she is. I don’t think I’ve seen her smile once since we met. It’s not really her ‘thing’. And flashes of the night before—the passion; the fire; the raw vulnerability—remind me what’s hidden below her ‘fuck-you’ exterior.
I’m late for work, but all I can do is walk towards the hateful woman. I pull the vape from her lips and take a long draught of the terrible stuff, wondering if my wife will smell it on my skin later. But that’s the future. I lean down and grip her by her hair, pull her head back so I can see that velvet, young neck. I taste her. A moan slips.
“Why do you do this to yourself?” she whispers in my ear. “You’ll never have enough.”
She’s right. But I grip her painted leg, and decide another course won’t hurt, and I slide up to feel her cock hardening under those tiny silk shorts. This she can’t hide: it gives her away, time and time again; and I know she wants me just as bad, even if she’ll never say it.
I pull the smooth fabric to the side, revealing her fleshy beast. A dragon wraps around it from tip to base—her guardian, I suppose.