by L. Michelle Johnson
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Gray gulls rise through grayer skies outside the open bedroom window. The cold wind rushes in, smashing brown leaves against the glass, twisting curtains into dangling shrouds. On the rain-spattered carpet, a metallic dress lies in a heap at the foot of the bed. Now, how many dots do you suppose there are on that ceiling tile, she wonders. Hard to tell from here. She hooks her chin over his shoulder. Stiff, black hairs prick her neck as her elbows brace against the mattress. She arches her spine and nails her nipples into his matted chest, waiting for his yesses to punctuate her carefully timed panting. Well, for argument's sake, she thinks, let's say twenty-five per tile. Then, how many would there be on the whole ceiling? Hmmmm, one, two, three, four, five, six rows that way. And one, two, three, four, five, six, seven rows this way. Let's see, six times seven forty-two, forty-two times twenty-five... "Jade, honey," he moans. His sweaty body pauses and rolls onto one elbow. Quickly, her eyes become slits that blur his face. Her sharp teeth tug on her lower lip. The man remains poised between her thighs, muscles quivering across his lower back. "Jade, honey," his voice cracks, "you 'bout ready to come? I can't hold it much longer." She pulls him back on her, scraping fingernails around the curve of his hips. A groan escapes his tight control. "Not long now, baby," she croons. "Almost there." Two times five ten, carry your one... • |
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LMichelle
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