Warm Up…

It’s cold outside. I don’t like cold. The sunshine is very tricky in making me think that it is a warm day, but it’s not. The sunshine is a fucking liar.

Today seems like a decent day for writing. I need to get some writing done. But I always feel like I just need to find the perfect moment to start. I’m tired of waiting for perfect moments. I decided to make my own. So, I need to warm up some.

I hope you guys don’t mind a little free writing. Unedited. Just words in my head to help start my day.

UNTITLED

She wrapped her legs lazily around his torso. His body was slicked with sweat, making it easy for her to glide her toes up and down the small of his back. She sighed when his teeth grazed across her collar bone. He had to leave soon. He always left her.

“Please?” she pleaded into his hair. He had a whole other life outside of her. This was never a secret between them. It didn’t make it any less difficult to let him go. She lifted his face to hers and searched his eyes. She wanted him to see how much it hurt to let him go.

A quick, sad grin, and he kissed her lips lightly. “You scare me,” he said, pulling back from her to push the hair from her forehead.

“Good. You should be scared,” she answered and slipped from under his body. The thin sheet gathered around her while she stole it from the bed, leaving his body naked and exposed.

“Oh?”

He sounded amused. The smile she knew she would find on his face if she turned around irritated her. She kept her back to him.

“Why should I be scared?”

She flipped the bathroom light on and studied her face in the mirror. Swollen lips from the millions of hungry kisses. Her neck was marked with tiny bruises, his way of claiming her. She let her fingers trace each one quickly before pressing her fingertips to her lips. The memories from moments before sending heat to her core.

“You said it, I just agreed,” she watched herself say. Her eyes were smudged with the eyeliner she had worked so hard on making perfect for him. He loved the detail she put into herself for him. He held her face at every meeting and told her how beautiful she was, and how happy she was his. He traced every line of her face – of her body – with his fingers. She felt like a prized possession in his hands.

He was not quiet about his usual routine before he left. He walked around the room and gathered his belongings, making sure everything would be back in place. No detail forgotten. Wedding ring. Engraved lighter from their fifth wedding anniversary. Wallet full of family pictures. Fresh, clean shirt to match the one he wore to work earlier in the day. Next came the scent of brewing coffee. He would never kiss his wife with the scent and taste of another woman’s cum on his lips.

“It’s disrespectful,” she murmured quietly while she wiped the left over makeup from her face.

“Hm?” he said, scooting past her and into the shower. He would need to wash away every trace of her.

The sick feeling came quicker than normal. Tears stung her eyes while she fought them, but they succeeded in sliding down her cheeks. She wiped them away and sucked in a deep breath when she heard the shower stop.

A dramatic billow of steam followed him out of the bathroom. He stopped in front of her sitting on the bed, kissing her quickly before checking his body in the full length mirror. No bruises or scratches from their earlier session. That was a hard and fast rule; he could mark and claim her, but she was never to mark him. Not even when she wanted to dig her nails into him to make him stay with her forever. He wasn’t hers. He would never be hers.

She watched him closely, her heart breaking with every lift of a limb or turn of his body while he checked thoroughly. Her eyes flicked quickly to the floor when she caught him watching her watch him.

“You never told me why I should be scared of you, love,” he said, walking past her to the dresser.

“It doesn’t matter,” she forced a smile at him.