He had strong hands. Tough finger tips that spent all day working on car engines and dead batteries. Against the smooth expanse of her skin he felt like sand paper. She could feel the way he reached down her spine and memorized every single nodule. She could smell the sweat of oil and grime mixed with the forest radiate off his body. He always refused to shower because he knew she liked it a little gritty, and a lot rough. These small things made her toes curl. He had a way of making her dirty. He could make her do the most despicable, selfless, raw things. Just the thought made her teeth bite down on the plump row of her lower lip nearly producing blood. She had bruises around her wrist from the handcuffs he left on for a minute too short. And, despite those being the only visual wounds, he had some how woven his ink stained way into her soul. She could feel his teeth tearing at her heart — foolish girl.
The sheets were an abomination on her bed. Clothing had been thrown recklessly all over her small bedroom, because when he saw her he couldn’t get to her breast fast enough. Their body heat created a dew against the window glass — it drizzled down its wooden sashes like the sweat on his chest. Like.. the moisture between her legs.
He left at 3 am. Something about.. having to be at work early again. He never stayed over. And, her sheets where smothered in the memory of this wicked seduction for days. Nothing ever washed this man out of her life. Of course, she had begged him to stay just a little longer. Something to eat? A drink? I’ll massage you..
As the clatter of the door closed behind him, she whispered into the morning light that poured over her sex riddled frame, “I’m quitting you.”
This was the lie she always told herself.
—– Absinthe’s Style:
Artistically, nearly pornographically, nude :) Happy 2014!!