Just don’t go.
Leaving would kill me, and he knows it.
Pain’s not the villain of my story. Loss is.
“You wanna fuck me?” I laugh?—
“No, you wanna fuck meyourway?”
I drag my thighs open,
one over each arm of the chair, pussy spread.
“Start with makin’ me come, and we’ll see where I stand.” My fingers slide down the inside of my thigh. “And Ben? Just 'cause B’s gone doesn’t mean my standards left with him. He made me see the whole fuckin’ galaxy, and if you don’t?” I click my tongue. “There won’t be any dick-n-cunt for you.”
He grins against my skin, cocky.
Then his tongue hits quick,
flicking messy
like he’s writing a fucking novel in spit.
“I could eat you ‘til the sun burns out, Baby.”
Ah, yes.
Pure poetry.
Shakespeare who?
He keeps talking to himself,
to me,
to whoever he’s performing for,
moaning between licks,
telling me how good I’m feeling.
I don’t confirm nor deny.
He doesn’t care anyway.
He only wants to hear his own voice.
“Yo, you feel that stutter in my tongue?
“That’s me sayin’hito every nerve you forgot you had.”
My clit rolls its eyes.
I grab my AirPods and pop them in.
Volume up.
Reality off.
