She has an ass like a Honeycrisp apple and when she corners me on the seventh floor stairwell, I grab it and squeeze.
She smiles and says, ‘You’re definitely a bad boy.’
I miss my cue to ask why. It doesn’t faze her.
‘Because I only dig bad boys.’
I’ve heard this before. And will hear it again.
‘That why you’re married to that lunatic?’
Her eyes swap seductive for scolding.
‘And you’ve got big balls,’ she replies, then grabs them and squeezes.
It’s true – years of trauma tempered the Alpha, but He still manages to occasionally flex His pecs on Bronx stairwells.
I pull her to me. She feels me and flutters.
‘I want it,’ she says.
‘You’ll get it,’ I respond.
Our lips meld, then open wide in the middle. Her tongue licks the roof of my mouth. I catch it between my teeth and bite down, first lightly, then not lightly. Her eyes widen.
An old-school slow jam sets off in my skull, something like Mint Condition.
Her legs lift, ankles crossing behind me. I turn us around so her back’s to the wall. She grunts.
I put a hickey on her right shoulder. It’s a brazen thing to do. I don’t care.
Her hand reaches for the burgeoning bulge between us, and her eyes widen wider. ‘Jesus,’ she declares.
‘No,’ I respond, which she ignores, focusing instead on measuring the length and width of what she’s asked for. When finished, she looks at me accusingly and explicitly states, ‘Fuck.’
‘Ok,’ I respond.
The square window on the seventh floor stairwell door steams up. It’s summer and we’re scorching, two hoodrats smeared on a tenement stair wall like graffiti.
It smells like weed, sweat, Grey Flannel, arroz con pollo and cocaine cut with ammonia. But when I put my face to her chest, all I smell is Freedom. From all of the above, and then some.
Her skin is eloquent as fuck and it’s clear he’s illiterate. I’m not. My nose and lips graze slowly, implying, informing. Stopping at the black bruise he put just over her heart. With more affection than I’ve ever mustered for my self, I kiss it. Tenderly. And sound drops out.
She’ll be leaving soon, but not really; she’s in my blood.
Noiselessly, I put my nose to hers and it sticks.
I look into her eyes and, with them, both of us fully clothed, I enter her.