Tilting her head back, Meeko growled at the ceiling spitting out more words in her native tongue. They sounded as natural as sorrow, and yet in each breath, there was enough violence to keep us both on edge. Lifting her shirt, I moved my hands across her body as if I were tracing a passage upon a map. From her left breast to her navel, there was a land where the sun never ceased its shining, and from her navel down to her sex, there was an ocean where I longed to swim. There was music. A secret chord that echoed throughout her ribcage, and when I placed my ear against her belly, it lifted me outside my cage of flesh so that I existed in a heavenly state the same as her. Grabbing a handful of my hair, she yanked my head so that her eyes bore into mine seeking answers for what could never be answered. Parting her lips, she sneered at me, and when I leaned in and put my own lips on her left nipple, she growled again and shook her head as if shaking away a vision that no longer fit. Her nipple tasted of toffee. It was the sweetest of treats, and as the milkyness of her breast tickled the back of my throat, I suckled her as if doing so would transform me from a withered writer into some Greek God capable of making even Dionysus blush with shame. Leaning back in her chair, she parted her legs, and I saw what I wanted to see—I always did. Demanding that she spread herself, with her forefingers and thumbs, she parted her lips revealing the pinky-red flesh within. Her pubic hair, although recently shaved, was long enough to hold her scent, and the closer I moved my face towards it, the stronger the smell became until my entire body began to tremble and shake. Spreading herself as wide as possible, I dug my fingers into her thighs and stuck out my tongue. Gliding it over her labia, she groaned loud enough to block out the hum of traffic outside, and so I went ahead and took a bite out of her like the starving artist I was.

A Journal for Damned Lovers UK

A Journal for Damned Lovers US

Anthology UK / Anthology US