The bruises left against the skin wrapped from the front of her thighs to the warm curve between her legs; they were shaded purple, a dark inkwell trail that marked the passage of teeth and fingernails.
I remember heat, and fingers dragging cloth over skin, each inch a hard won victory as fingernails dug into my back and shoulder. Her nails were sharp, but my teeth teeth were sharper, and while her cries drove me deeper, my own came as low-buried growls made against the bared flesh I was feasting on.
One thought on “snack”
A great secret of success is to go through life as a man who never gets used up.