by Ronica Black
Blood pounded to my head, hot and thick. Panic, adrenaline, fear, excitement. All of it felt fast and heavy as it slammed through me. She knows. Oh God, she knows.
She slid her hand down the outside of the coat, withdrew a folded piece of paper from the pocket, and held it out to me. Her voice was soft.
“I’ve come for my last letter. The one Prairie found in your office. The one you never sent.”
I started to speak in defense, but she stopped me with powerful words of her own.
“I’ve been living for your words, Brynn. And lately, dying without them.” She held my eyes with a determination I had never seen.
“Read it,” she commanded with a whisper. “I need to hear you read it to me.”
I focused on the familiar piece of paper, still folded neatly despite being crinkled with wear. I opened it and gasped as the words written in my hand jumped out at me.
“Read it,” she said again, nearly breathless.
Her eyes bored into me and her lips parted slightly, beckoning me.
I lowered my gaze and cleared my throat.
I spoke, my voice trembling:
Emily,
Red.
Lace.
Rich like velvet.
Dark and smooth and satin.
Teasingly covering her creamy skin in seductive webs of deep ruby.
My lips sucking through the satin lingerie.
Her neck, arching and showing itself, paling from the moonlight as her head tilts back in pleasure.
Her hair, cascading over her shoulders like ocean waves inked by night.
Red.
Clinging to her skin.
Dark and moist from my mouth.
Red.
As I finished the final lines, I heard her reciting them with me. She repeated the last of the words over and over while her hands opened the raincoat. The poem seemed alive and hungry, stealing the breath from my chest, squeezing the blood from my heart.
The coat fell to the floor.
I fought for air as the image in my mind, the one my words created, focused into this new reality, this new world with new boundaries.
“Is this…” she whispered. “Is this how you imagined me?” She stood as still as the night, her creamy skin moist and glowing in contrast to the dark red lingerie. Fingers splayed, she ran her palms up and down her body, over the lacy bra, across the planes of her abdomen, down to the lacy red panties.
“Tell me, Brynn. Tell me what you’ve wanted to tell me for so long.”
My breath hitched in my throat. My heart thudded like mad against the restricting fingers of the poem. She was there. She was beautiful. Jesus-fucking-Christ, she was so beautiful. She was everything.
“I…” No words would come. After all the thoughts, the feelings, the letters, no words could ever come close to expressing what I was feeling at that moment. It was as if everything in me was strained and stretching. My muscles, my bones, my insides. She had her hands inside me, pulling and clenching, killing me softly. My blood and skin felt white hot, burning in waves and waves of flushing heat. Somehow she was doing all this to me just by standing there, damp and red, breathing the same air as me and staring into my eyes. The red heels moved her closer and she took my hand and drew me toward her, seeming to understand. She leaned in, a mere inch from me, and I could feel the flames of her breath on my ear.
“If you can’t tell me…then show me.”
Her perfume hit me hard and fast. My legs trembled and I rested my hands on her shoulders for support. She took in another breath as the heat of our skin collided. She was damp, warm, and waiting. I groaned as she pressed into me, wrapping her arms around my neck. She felt so good against me. So incredibly soft and slick and warm. Soft was her skin, slick from the rain, warm from her heart.
“I’ve never been with a woman, Brynn. But I’ve thought about it…I’ve thought about you…for a long time.” She paused, her breath tickling my ear. “When Prairie saw how miserable we’ve both been and she gave me the letter…something strange happened inside me. Just knowing it was you, all that time. It…did something to me.” She brushed her cheek against mine and brought her lips a mere centimeter away from my mouth. “Kiss me.”
Her breath teased my lips, and I couldn’t get it into my lungs quickly enough. Gently, I skimmed my hands up her neck to her face. I needed to hold her, hold on to the moment forever. Lost in the allure of her scent, I lowered my head and felt her quiver as I touched my lips to hers.
Rich. Thick. Warm. Wet. Her moan fanned my flame. She pressed into me harder and the kiss grew deeper. My flame was now a raging inferno. My mouth came to life on its own and took her, one luscious lip at a time. First the top, then the bottom. Then her tongue. It came searching, and then came finding. I met it with my own and we became one, tasting and testing. She was sweet and slick with a darting, daring hunger. The feel of her so passionate, so ready, it was…unbelievable. I groaned and held her tighter, desperately validating her presence.
As if she sensed my need to feel her, she grabbed my wrists to lead my hands down to her hips. Then she whispered her fire in my ear. “Make me red. Red, just like your poem. Color me with your mouth.”
As the request registered, my entire body ignited and pulsed. A rush of sound, like a crashing ocean wave, flooded my ears and I could no longer hear, and no longer cared. The image of her words was all that I needed.
I gripped her firmly, running my hands over her backside and squeezing. She threw her arms and legs around me as I lifted her off the floor. Teeth nipped at my neck as we spun, her tongue playing with my ear as I walked. I made it to the window where I pressed her against it and she gasped from the feel of the cool pane.
Rain still splashed against it. I kissed her again, hard and furious, as I rocked into the damp flesh between her legs.
Her fingers scraped my scalp and knotted in my hair as the kiss grew wilder and hungrier. I conquered her mouth and battled her tongue, swirling and swirling. I couldn’t get enough, couldn’t get deep enough. We fed on one another, so hard and relentless my lips first burned and bruised then numbed and tingled.
When she yanked me away by my hair her lips were dark and dangerous, lipstick smeared.
“I can’t stop shaking,” she said, and seemed strangely frightened, but her voice was deep and strong.
“Hurry,” she demanded, pushing me away. I took a step back and lowered her to stand on her own. She gripped my forearms and seared her eyes into mine. “Make me red.”
My world burned. I took her hands, laced them in mine, and pressed them over her head. I held her there, so long and so tight, I swore I felt my fingers melt through the glass, felt the biting rain stinging my knuckles. Fighting with reality, I lowered my head to her chest. I felt her heart pumping wildly. I imagined I saw it as I pulled away, neon red and rushing, held captive against the cold, dark windowpane. I kissed her hot skin up to her neck where I sucked and licked where her veins fed her life. She cried out with pleasure as I fastened to her.
“Yes, yes,” she panted. “You feel so good.”
I pulled away and looked at her flesh. It was red.
Hastily, I pulled aside her bra and exposed her tan nipple. Her breath caught in her throat as my mouth colored her nipple to resemble her neck. She arched into me and ran her fingernails over my back. I sucked her hard and bit her soft. Her groans grew stronger and I released her hands. She clawed and commanded, first insisting then begging.
I worked my way lower, licking her clenching abdomen, kissing my way down. Her panties were satin and lace, hinting and teasing with the dampness of her desire. I kissed her there, where everything gathered and bunched, the nucleus of her.
She cried out, throaty and loud. “Oh God. Mmm. Feels so good.”
The red material darkened with the moisture from my tongue. It was what I had dreamed about. What I had wanted for so long. She was here. It was happening. She was a beautiful dark red rosebud, and I was going to make her bloom
.
I pulled down her panties as she tugged at my hair. She wanted more, wanted my mouth on her bare flesh. Her eyes were smoky and hazed, her head resting against the window. She looked at me when she stepped out of the lingerie. Her bottom lip trembled. It was an image I knew I would never forget.
I placed my hands on her thighs and breathed against the dark pink flesh between them. She shivered and moaned as her hand tightened in my hair. She wanted it. Wanted me. I could feel it humming out of her, but I needed to hear her say it.
“Do you want my mouth on you?” I whispered.
She licked her lips and leaned her back against the window once again, the feel of my breath driving her wild.
“Yes,” she managed and then groaned, pulling me to her.
I resisted, my own body ready to burst from the inside out. I could almost taste her glistening, waiting flesh. “Tell me, Emily. Tell me.”
She tilted my head to look at her. “I want…I want your mouth on me.” Her eyes pierced into mine, so alive with need it took my breath away.
“Please, Brynn. Now.”
Again, she tugged me to her, and this time I let her. Closing my eyes, I felt her hot flesh touch my nose, my lips, and my chin. I didn’t move, but rather let her move me where she wanted me. She held me firmly while moaning and thrusting into my face, desperate for me to fasten to her. I inhaled her scent and moaned, relishing in the feel of her all wet and silky, all over my face.
When I felt her nails in my scalp and heard the crack in her voice, I knew neither of us could wait any longer.
I extended my tongue and licked her up and down, starting from the outside and moving in, barely rimming her hard clitoris. She shuddered and her knees nearly gave out, her body sinking against me. I held her up with all my strength, one hand on her hip, the other pressing open her thigh. Her moans grew louder as my tongue framed the length of her, thriving on her sound. Her clit was firm yet delicate, protruding and pulsing.
“Oh, Brynn.”
I looked up. Her eyes were clenched shut, her chest expelling ragged breaths. “So good. Feels so good.”
Dying to give her more, I moved my tongue lower and found the essence of her waiting for me, warm and ready and already pooled. It was milky sugar. The sweetest sugar I had ever tasted. With my head spinning, I flattened my tongue and spread her sweetness all over her excited flesh. She trembled as I feasted, first in a slow, gentle manner and then in a pressured frenzy, sucking in her flesh, again avoiding the clitoris. Her body jerked and pushed and then pulled and fought. She was going mad with desire, crying out into the night, beckoning to the resounding thunder.
Unable to hold off any longer, I took her stiff clit between my teeth and held it there as she gasped and slammed her head back. She bit her lower lip and her pelvis trembled against me.
“What are you doing to me?” she rasped.
I swirled my tongue over the tip and she bucked three times very quickly, unable to control herself. My mouth licked and sucked, swirled and stroked. I pulled away and saw that her flesh was a deep red.
I entered her, as many fingers as she could take, wanting to feel her bloom from the inside. She was hot, liquid silk, and I groaned at the feel of her spongy, firm tunnel. I thrust into her long and slow until her cries became short and fast.
The rose was unfurling.
Slowly.
Beautifully.
Rich and red.
I closed my eyes. I could see it there. Blossoming. I wanted to taste it. Taste the velvet red of the rose. My lips found her and fed. Yes. Yes. Beautiful rose.
“God, oh God, oh God!” Her cries ripped from her chest and the thunder echoed her as she came in my mouth, clenched around my fingers. She shoved herself against me, desperate and demanding. The pleasure I had given her had built and built and now it was bursting free. She was giving that to me. Her pleasure. And I took it, as much as I could. Swallowing it down. Swallowing her.
When my name sang from her lips in a soft, stuttered song, I slowed my tongue and eased my lips. The thunder that had echoed her trailed off into the distance and her fingers relaxed to stroke my hair. I pulled my mouth from her but left my fingers deep inside. She opened her eyes and brought her hands to my face, clasping me gently.
I waited for sweet nothings, for the declarations of love or emotion that often followed an orgasm. Especially one induced for the first time by another woman. But again, Emily Cartwright surprised me.
“Brynn.”
“Yes.”
“You made me red.” She stared at me with eyes still heavy lidded with desire, but liquid like the glass splattered with rain.
“Yes, I did.” Gently, I eased out of her and watched as a lingering spark of pleasure lit her face.
A serious look came over her and she ran her fingers across my lips as if they were her eyes and seeing me for the first time. A tear gathered and fell down her cheek. Concerned, I thumbed the warm trail away from her face.
“Are you okay?”
She stared deep into my eyes.
“Nothing’s ever felt so good.” She reached for my wrist and squeezed it tight. “I want to feel you inside me. Always.”
I swallowed at her request. “Anything. Anything for you.”
She smiled.
“Then take me to the bed and do it again. Make me red.”
B is for Beautiful
“Whatcha doin’ today?” My great uncle Marty wanted to know as we loaded my small, seen way better days Geo Metro. That was his trademark question, calling every single family member who wasn’t long distance every day asking, “Hey, whatcha doin’?”
I crawled in behind the wheel and started the car as he pushed in the lighter button and lit a cigarette. He smoked as I drove through the tiny Southern town in which I and everyone that had any drop of blood in relation to mine was born. I relaxed and breathed in the country air as Marty held his cigarette by his face, pinky extended. He held his beer that way too, way up high by his chin, pinky out.
“I don’t know,” I finally answered. I had been in town for a week and I was already feeling overwhelmed. “I think I might go for a drive.” I just needed to be alone for a while. The funeral had been long, sad, and drawn out. Where I’m from wakes last for hours, the line extending out the door. Everyone comes dressed in their Sunday best, taking your hand in both of theirs, giving their condolences, and then they stand by the coffin and whisper, “Don’t he look good? He does, he looks good.”
“Can I come?” Marty asked, reaching out to rub the dash. “I like this car.” He began turning the radio knob.
“I think I want to go alone.” I switched on the radio for him. “But we’ll do something tomorrow.”
He nodded and smoked some more. “I’ll call you tonight.”
I knew he would, regardless, so I said, “Okay.”
I relished Marty’s unusualness. He was by far the most interesting person I knew, related or not. As weird as he was, he’d always been good to me and good to my mother. He was a devil on the guitar and he used to play little concerts for me when I was a kid. I’d sit on his squeaky bed in his small room, my feet dangling as the old air conditioner in the window ran. He’d tune his guitar and sing Elvis for me for as long as his voice held out.
We drove on down the road and passed the one swinging stoplight to turn into my grandmother’s dirt road. As I pulled into the gravel drive I counted five other vehicles. Family and friends were still hanging out, stuffing the old Frigidaire with mountains of fried chicken and casseroles. This morning I even noticed a red velvet cake on the kitchen table.
“I’ll see y’all later,” I said as Marty hopped out and unloaded the tater tots, hair dye, and other personal items he’d claimed he desperately needed. He’d been spending the days at my grandmother’s, along with everyone else. My grandfather had been a good friend to him and his sudden death was a shock to us all. I knew I should go inside and visit with everyone, but I was exhausted and finally griev
ing. The last thing I wanted to do was break down in front of my grandmother. She was having a hard enough time.
I watched as the strangest man I knew headed into my grandmother’s house, accepting that he was probably saner than me. He, at the very least, had been married at one time. Me, I couldn’t even claim a long-term relationship. But no one knew the true reason why. They all just thought I’d preferred college first before I settled down with the right man. I guess that’s why I enjoyed time with Marty so much. We both held deep secrets.
I drove back up the dirt road away from the overcrowded farmhouse and then turned onto the main highway. The day was hot and muggy, typical for July in the South. I hadn’t been home for a few years and I had no idea where I was going. Turning on the A/C, I decided on taking a scenic rural route. I merged off the highway and drove for over half an hour on a winding narrow road. I carved through trees, dense forests, and kudzu and then the road opened up onto vast green pastures before narrowing back into woods again.
Janet Jackson was singing about “Nasty Boys” when my car starting hesitating. Immediately, I switched off the radio and looked to the gauges. My engine temp was way up; something was wrong. I felt the air coming from the A/C vent with the back of my hand. It was blowing hot.
“Shit.” Up ahead I saw an old gas station next to a weathered rusty building. “Come on, come on.” I started jerking in my seat, as if that would somehow help. My eyes scanned the garage and I noticed a faded OPEN sign in the window. I craned the steering wheel into the drive just as the car died.
I tried the ignition but nothing happened. Smoke began to rise out of the hood. There was no movement from inside the garage, and I began to wonder about the sign as I took in the stacks of worn tires and grass overgrowing on tractor parts. Without the A/C, the heat was stifling. I was just reaching to roll down the window when someone smashed against it, hands flat, nose smeared.
“Jesus!” I jumped.
“Overheated?” He smiled, kind of goofy looking but friendly. His hands were covered in grease and he had on a stained T-shirt. He backed away so I could roll down the window.