After Midnight by Chelsea James

the rough brown end in my mouth and flicked the lighter’s silver wheel before I noticed she was looking intently at me. I inhaled deeply, my cheeks going slightly concave around the filter. As I sat next to her, I noticed she had three bruises on her left arm.
    â€œDid you get those from rugby?” I asked her.
    Dalia smiled at me, a little too sloe-eyed and deeply, as she smoked. “Something like that.” She turned her left arm out further and brought it closer to me. At this angle, I saw two additional bruises, muted blue patches against her light skin, and I couldn’t stop myself from wondering which lover had grabbed her so roughly. Before I could ponder this thought too long, Dalia brought that arm over my shoulder, resting her hand on my shirt, touching me all the way from my collar to the edge of my cuff. Her hand rested on the tender skin of my inner elbow where my pulse was jumping. I stretched my fingers to touch her in return, and her fingers bent in on themselves slightly, her nails making contact with my flesh as she pulled them down my forearm, hard. I gasped and arched my back before she scratched me again, this time with both hands, the cigarette hanging loosely from her lips. My eyes, wide at first, shut tightly as I processed the sensations accompanying the red lines on my skin.
    Even then I didn’t realize we were fucking. It took me until she knelt up over me, grabbed my cigarette and my beer, and then crushed her lips down over mine to figure it out. Until then
I thought she was roughhousing with me like I’d done with a thousand others, but after that point, after her tongue parted my lips and her teeth pulled my lips between them, I knew. My hands found her hips, and she pushed my hair behind my ears.
    Then she slapped my face. My mouth fell open, and my head swung to the right. She didn’t touch me again right away, instead letting the blood rise up in her handprint and my chest give a shudder. I knew by the look on her face that she was waiting for some sign of assent, so I nodded at her. Dalia licked her lips with no small amount of desire, and I pushed her shirt up to her neck. I thought she would slap me again for sure, so I was almost disappointed when she pulled my mouth to first one hard nipple and then the other. My lips pressed into her soft small breasts as I worked over her nipples with my teeth and tongue. We moved in time with the music, something like a lap dance, something like a floor show, something right out of a music video. Except she was so hot, her mouth felt so good on my neck, and she was real, covering my body with both scratches and caresses.
    I could smell her, and my mouth and cunt watered equally. I undid the buckle on Dalia’s studded belt, and the leather whistled as she slid it out of her pant loops. As I unzipped her pants, she slipped the belt around my neck, and as I removed the last of her clothes, she cinched the belt down hard, pulling me close to her, guiding my face to her neck, her breasts, her belly, and finally her pussy, which was framed with gold curls and steel. I tried to take a deep breath, but she was tugging on the belt, and my mouth quickly collided into those warm wet lips. I played my tongue across the slit between her pussy lips and brought her juice up to my lips, licking myself. As I pushed myself between Dalia’s lips, she moaned and said, “My clit’s kinda big.” She wasn’t kidding—almost an inch around it seemed as I rolled it around my lips like a jawbreaker. Her hand gripped the belt
around my neck with a strength that left me scared, panting, and dripping wet. I felt her thighs shaking underneath my hands and licked more slowly and forcefully. She seemed to be getting close, but my vision was getting sparkly around the edges and I wanted to make her come before I missed out on it entirely.
    I made a tight seal around her clit with my lips, watching to see if she’d respond.