The elevator can not hold our urgency, our desperate need. Your fingers have already traced my thigh, bare under this summer dress, and found their apex, the lush jungle under lace. The hotel room is 6 doors from the elevator, high above the sluggish city, neon oozing in the heat. Will we make it, or will you take me here, face pressed to the flocked wall paper, skirt up my back, a quick, slick ramming? Double metal doors parting, we sprint, laughing, drunk on the feral excitement. You chase, I squeal and we are barely through the door when I’m over the sofa, feet off the ground and your fist is full of damp lace, shredded by your urgency, and I am full of you.
I love small pieces like this that say so much – your word choice, as always, is succinct and packs a punch! <3
The shortness of this piece adds to their sense of urgency. Love it.
Rebel xox
Perfect flow writing. Short teases my favorite!!!