"I'm going to show you what you mean to me," she whispered, so much smoke down my lungs.
She kissed me, fierce and full of fire. Her lips tasted like cinnamon bubblegum. Her eyes only half-closed. Her face only half-relaxed in rapture. Her teeth seemed to sharpen as she bit my lip, deep down to the blood inside. She tasted what ran through me and only then did she moan.
She tore fingernails across my shoulder-blades, like she wanted to slide her knuckles deep into the muscle underneath. She wanted to play with me like putty, like raw hamburger. She wanted her palms under my skin, wanted to knead me into a shape that made her salivate.
So she did just that.
She rode me like a rickety shack under storm winds. She rattled my two little windows with slaps and shakes and shudders. She huffed and puffed into my left ear as she went up, over, through me, and down again. She made me want to buckle.
When I did, she rode me down.
I wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her, soft and sweet. She tried, she really did, but soon enough, she bit my lips again. She made it hurt. She made it hot. She didn't make it sweet.
She started to cry. I held her close; she shook and fought and flinched. She flinched. Soft hurt.
She slapped my face again, hard enough to make my jaws go clack and scrape my tongue red.
"I tried," she whispered, so much smoke exhaled, leaving behind a mess of tar.
And with that, she left and I never saw her again.
(Prompt: "Last Line: ‘And with that, she left and I never saw her again.’" - towriteprompts.)
(c) 2013 Lawerence Hawkins