Pomegranates
By Jetia Azor
Tw: short reference to deadnaming, intoxication, coercion, choking, panty sniffing, oral sex/cunnilingus, menstruation, blood, spit
“Y’all good?”
Elyzabeth gave the bouncer a curt nod as she slipped her ID into her inside pocket, falling into step behind her best friend, Nazira. The moment Naz pushed the vibrating, chipped, red door open, the quiet of the sidewalk shattered—Risk by Deftones roared out, and the bar swelled into a chamber of sound.
The place was foggy—air thick with cigarette and weed smoke encasing the club in a hazy cloud. It clung to the walls. To the people. No matter how many times she inhaled, thinking she would get used to the disgusting smell, she spluttered and coughed—her eyes burning from the sheer intensity of the drugs surrounding her.
She lowered her gaze, wanting to lessen the risk of meeting the eyes of an all too friendly fellow. Lyz followed the red underside of Nazira’s heels as her combat boots dragged through a minefield of empty—and sometimes full—beer bottles. The warped hardwood clung sticky to her soles, every step like being pulled into a black hole.
Elyzabeth tugged her leather jacket tighter, as if the worn material could hold her together—like a yarn doll stitched too loosely, one tug away from unraveling, one grasping hand from touching where she didn't permit.
Bodies pressed against her on every side, which made her regret wearing such a short black mini dress that showed the curve of her ass. Movements less like dancing and more like outercourse pushed her into others, compelling her to mutter apologies she didn’t mean just to keep moving.
The red neon sign ‘Red Den’ hummed and flickered above the stacked, dark-stained liquor shelves, painting the bottles in a hellish glow. Music throbbed low and almost incoherent the further they got from the DJ; the bass vibrating in her sternum like a second, unwilling heartbeat.
This was so out of her element.
The plan had been simple: stay in bed, eat ice cream under a heating pad, doomscroll TikTok to forget that her partner had cheated on her—think about burning her sheets—ya’ know, the usual. But Nazira had knocked and pushed her way into her apartment—refusing to take no for an answer. So here Elyzabeth was—standing in a crowd of strangers with her throat wrapped in barbed wire and an excruciatingly stabbing pain from her uterus punishing her.
Eve just had to eat that fucking apple.
When Elyzabeth reached the bar, Nazira was already dancing with the most generic blonde-looking jock She looked seductive as the lights turned her white skin into a pinkish hue, and her black wavy hair had fuchsia flashes. The man was rubbing all along her thighs and hips. Her arms stretched high, honed muscles flexing under the glow as her backless red halter clung to her frame. The black mini skirt and heels only lengthened her figure—every turn of her hands graceful, every sway of her body loose and wild as she belted the lyrics off-key.
Naz turned her back to him, lips parted as she bent her rotating hipsand cradled his hands on her waist. Their bodies pressed tightly together, losing themselves in the throbbing beat—he watched where their clothed bodies made contact, face flushed—red bitten lip.
Her eyes flicked to where Lyz stood. She removed one hand from her hip and raised it to form a drinking gesture. Lyz shook her head. Feeling entirely awkward as if she was placed in a cuck chair watching her best friend essentially dry hump this random. Naz frowned, reaching up, her ribs elongating when she wrapped her arms around the stranger. He leaned down, taking the opportunity to explore her spread body as she whispered in his ear.
The man made eye contact with Lyz, forcing her to smile apprehensively. He nodded, let Nazira go, and then pointed somewhere behind Elyzabeth.
Lyz observed as Naz made her way to her in the sea of bodies—like a koi fish gliding gracefully in a pond.
She could never be graceful.
Her stiff body was jerky when she entered the club and attempted to dance for two seconds, but stopped when she realized she probably looked like a zombie.
Though zombies still have more rhythm than her, like in Michael Jackson’s music video ‘Thriller.’
A black woman with no rhythm. A damn shame.
“Girl, forget your slut ex and have a drink or ten,” Nazira yelled over the music and chatter, encasing her arms around Elyzabeth's neck and driving her to move side to side to the beat.
Lyz rolled her eyes. “It's not about him anymore. My period started while I was getting ready.” It was at least forty-five percent about her ex. Her boss gave her a hard time this morning, blaming her for this year’s budget being cut by two percent. Which was to only implement more food, hydration, and bean-bag chairs around the company, yet somehow, an executive decision was her fault. She usually works a bit later on Fridays, so she has less to do on Monday, but she decided to leave two hours earlier in spite of her boss breathing down her neck.
He can honestly eat shit and die for all she cares.
On her way home, Elyzabeth texted her ex if he could prepare the bath and find a movie for them to watch when she got home.
The train was a needle, stitching through two contrasting fabrics of the city. The rhythmic clatter of the worn tracks was the only constant as the world outside the glass shifted from pristine, towering architecture to grittier brick walls and tagged landmarks. The ride back took fifty minutes plus the ten-minute walk. Not one text back from her partner.
Her legs burned.
Even after two years, the familiar route failed to make her accustomed to the travel. The run-down five-story brown brick building loomed into view, its boarded-up windows a grim reminder of the sporadic shootouts. Fifteen hundred dollars for a five-hundred-square-foot studio in this crime-ridden neighborhood felt like a testament to the neighborhood's predatory rent prices.
She watched with trepidation as a horde of rats squeaked mercilessly upon attacking a smaller rat. Her nose hairs shriveled up at the constant funk from homeless people pissing in the alleyway next to the entrance.
“Spare change?”
Elyzabeth glanced at the homeless woman wrapped in a blanket full of holes, wearing tattered clothes, and sitting on the steps with a barren soup can.
“I'm broke too.”
With that, she swiped in and, of course, was greeted by a big sign across the graffiti-covered elevator that it was ‘under maintenance’ and she needed to take the stairs. The stairs have been under maintenance since she moved in, with no signs that the rotten wood, wobbly steps, and loose handrail will soon be fixed.
She sighed, her shoulders slumping, and stared to the side blankly, as if there were a hidden camera.
“I can't wait till I move out.”
Four flights up, her feet were pulsating, she was sweating profusely, and there was a dull pain that came in waves in her abdomen.
Shitty day, shitty elevator, shitty endurance, and shitty period.
She sighed for the umpteenth time when she saw her door. Fishing out her keys from the bottom of her purse, which was full of crumbs and random useless junk, she put the keys in the lock and hoped her partner saw her message and did those almost pitifully small things for her.
She stepped inside.
Instead of “welcome home, honey, you're such a hard worker, let me take care of you,” the living room was barren, dark. Lyz kicked the door behind her and took her phone out and tapped ‘living room lights’ on her home app. Her kitchen and living room lights illuminated dim sunset colors, encasing the space in a warm, cozy glow. Walking further in, she set her things onto the side table by the front door. It’s possible that Drew stepped out and miscalculated when she would ret-
“Stoooppp, I can’t go again.”
…
What the hell?
Elyzabeth's eyebrows furrowed—eyes squinting at her shut bedroom door. Her ears must be deceiving her. There was no way her broke, jobless, ‘Lyz, can I crash here for a few days,’ partner brought another woman to her apartment, let alone her bedroom, right?
She took one step, then another—every step morphing into splashing—like rain hitting pavement—puddles forming beneath her feet.
Each one reflected a memory.
When it was their movie night, Lyz saw that Andrew’s mind was somewhere else and asked what was wrong. Numerous “I'm fine” left his lips, but when she shut the TV off and faced him, needing to know what burdened her partner, he tugged her into his lap and cried into her neck, expressing how he couldn't stand to look in the mirror or how he didn't feel quite right in his body.
She coddled him, doing everything and anything to drag him out of this dark ocean to shore.
Amelia became Andrew.
The first time she called him, he, and watched his whole face light up.
The day she fell in love with him.
Drew texted her as soon as she got home to change into something ‘pic-nic-ey’ so he could take her out on a date to Central Park. She sprinted to her room. Throwing on a long baby blue dress that had a mid-thigh slit, sandals, and a sunhat with a matching color stripe.
Andrew knocked fifteen minutes later, pink lilies in one hand, picnic baskets in the other. He wore a white, long-sleeve button-down shirt with the first two buttons undone and his sleeves rolled up under his elbows. Navy blue slacks encased his thighs and brown loafers on his feet.
They hugged and kissed in greeting. She took the flowers and set them on the counter for her to properly take care of when they got back. Drew held the door with his back and bowed with a hand out.
“After you, m’lady.”
Hand in hand, they walked the thirteen-minute trip to the park, chatting the whole way. The two set up a blanket once they found a nice spot in the shade and set out the-
food?
For the twenty-three years he’s lived on this floating rock, Andrew still cannot cook.
The chicken mac-n-cheese with broccoli pieces was overcooked—bits of noodles burnt, the chicken looked rubbery, and the broccoli was mushy. His turkey sandwiches were falling apart from being overstuffed, and the ‘fresh fruit’ didn't look fresh but more like weeks old.
Elyzabeth scratched her head in confusion, biting her lip to hide her laugh. “Wooowww this all looks so yummy!” She glanced at him—
Drew tackled Lyz into the red and white checkered blanket, “Stop laughing at me!” A ginormous smile graced his face as he tickled her sides.
“Noo!!”
Elyzabeth squirmed, her stomach contracting as she used her palms to push at his shoulders. Boisterous laughter spilled out of her lips.
He tickled her for a couple more seconds—her begging to be released fell on deaf ears. Drew fell on top of her, littering her neck in kisses.
“Let’s eat.”
Another time, she had just gotten paid. Drew was let go from his marketing job, claiming the company wasn’t doing so well to keep a lot of staff. He did odd jobs here and there to keep himself afloat and pay rent at his parents' place. She saved for three paychecks. Going straight to the mall, not for herself but to buy Drew two more binders after the one he used became worn and torn. More tape, shirts that aligned with his new baggier style, and boxers that weren't so tight on his hips.
It was expensive, money she could have used toward buying a car or paying rent earlier. But when she raced home, stomach in knots from how anxious she was to get home, “come on, come on, come on, why doesn't the fucking train go faster?”
Elyzabeth sprinted out the doors at her stop, shortening her walk into five minutes, bags tousling in her hands. She swiped into her apartment, punching the up button on the elevator until the doors opened up for her. She took in gulps of air and held onto the handrail to catch her bearings. The elevator dinged. Running down the hall to her door, she fished out her keys and barged in—Drew jumping from the force of the door slamming against the wall.
“Hi, babe, are you okay?” He asked, concern written all over his face as he paused the movie he put on. Elyzabeth couldn't speak—inhaling all the air in the vicinity as she held up the five bags.
“Oh!” He sprang up from the couch. “Went shopping, I see.” He wiggled his eyebrows as he tugged her through the front door and into his arms. His arms circled her waist, and she melted into his hold, sniffing his citrus scent. “Are you gonna give me a haul?” She shook her head. “They’re for you,” Elyzabeth answered, pulling back slightly and holding the bags up. “You’re going to give me a haul.”
His mouth gaped in shock. Drew turned slightly to peer into one of the bags and saw the “GC2B” logo.
“You bought me binders?” He asked, voice cracking. His nose kept twisting like a rabbit as if he was trying to will the tears away. Lyz nodded, “and a bit more,” showing all thirty-two’s as she smiled.
“Oh, thank you so much.” He squeezed her so tight she thought she was going to explode. “You’re welcome.” She wheezed, tapping his shoulder to let her go. “Now, hurry up and try them on!”
Their anniversary dinner last year.
A fancy Italian restaurant with a name and menu items they couldn't pronounce. Giggling at one another about how their underdressed attire made them stand out like two bright green apples in a basket full of dull red ones.
The dinner was amazing. They opted to get simpler and less expensive dishes, such as chicken carbonara and tortellini. Their table was filled with nonstop chatter and laughter—then it changed when Lyz returned from the bathroom.
Drew attempted to act nonchalant, taking the fork from Elyzabeth’s hand and replacing it with a small black velvet box. Her eyebrows shot to her hairline in shock.
“What’s this?” The woman asked, placing her knife into her plate, hand hovering over the top.
“Open it.” He pointed with his knife; his jaw was clenched as if he didn't want to smile.
The box contained a silver ring with an overlapping infinity symbol— ‘Andrew and Elyzabeth’ engraved in the metal.
“Oh, Andrew, I-”
“Nono, it's a promise ring. I know you don't want to get married until our lives are more comfortable,” he cleared his throat, fiddling with a noodle on his plate; “so this is me promising my love for you will be eternal, and I'll stay by your side.” He whispered toward the end, sounding bashful.
She glanced up, eyes teary and lip quivering, “thank you,” but he was avoiding eye contact, face bright red like a tomato; “No problem.”
Three years.
Three years of being his friend, his therapist, his lover.
Her heartbeat echoed into her skull for every step down the hall as she pushed open the door to her bedroom. The smell hit her first—a tangy, sour aroma and sweat. The room was incredibly hot, as if they sealed themselves in a furnace, smelting their bodies together.
Giggling, limbs s l i d i n g on the sheets,
kissing, moaning.
Black satin pillows were tossed on. the. floor.
Clothes thrown with reckless abandon.
A purple thong on top of his head, the straps around his ears like a helmet.
She couldn’t hold it any longer.
“What the fuck?” She spoke eerily calm, willing her thumping heartbeat to slow.
The woman yanked her hands away as if his skin burned her, whispering “oh my god, what the fuck” in a chant.
Andrew froze.
His back was littered with bright red scratches and bite marks, tensed, body half-covered by the blanket, obscuring the woman underneath him. “Oh my god—” Her voice squeaked, eyes peeking from under his hairy armpit, hands wrapped around her naked chest to conceal herself.
Drew ripped her underwear off his head, turning with a face covered in red lipstick stains to look Elyzabeth in the eyes. “Lyz—” Andrew started, his voice cracking, the panic already blooming across his face as he frantically darted between the two women. “It’s not what it looks like, I swear—”
“No, it is.” The unknown woman started, her hands up in mock surrender, marked-up body on full display.
“You said she was working late.” She whisper-yelled, side-eyeing Drew. He swallowed, eyes wide as if he wanted to respond, but decided to keep his mouth shut. His hookup threw Elyzabeth’s orange comforter off her legs, revealing a noticeably duller wet spot in the center of her black satin sheets.
She scrambled to collect her discarded crop top and jeans from the carpeted floor—sliding them on, then her sneakers. Both of them watched her in silence, Elyzabeth on the cusp of losing her shit, while Drew looked faint.
The woman turned to Drew, buttoning her jeans up. “Um…just throw those out.” She said, pointing at her underwear, he's gripping in his hand like a lifeline. She spun on her heel, ducking under Lyz’s scrutinizing stare.
“Sorry girl,” the woman whispered, bolting out the door, hair disheveled, perfume trailing behind her like guilt.
So much for girl code.
Andrew scrambled to the edge of the bed, gripping the edge of her comforter alongside her panties. “Lyz I-”
“Save it.” She seethed. Molten anger surged through her veins
“You have 15 minutes to pack your shit up.”
He sat up, tugging the blanket to his chest like it could hide what he’d done. “Nononono Lyz, baby, please. I—I messed up, okay? I got bored, you were working all the time and—I just—I don’t know what’s wrong with me—”
A dry laugh left her lips. She wedged her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose. A headache boomed in the forefront of her head as she shook left and right in disbelief.
“You got bored. Are you deadass?”
“Bitch you're in my bed—”
She stepped closer, eyes blazing. “I stayed through fucking everything, Andrew. I stayed when you didn’t even know who you were. I held you when you cried every time, I gave you the keys to my apartment, I loved you, and you threw it away because you needed a little excitement?”
He tried to reach for her, voice desperate now. “Please, Lyz, I’m so sorry!”
“Nahhh don’t touch me.” Her tone dropped low, steady—the kind of calm that burned. “Get. Out.”
He hesitated. “What about my stu-”
“I said, get out!”
The echo of her shout filled the room, and for a moment, everything went silent except the sound of her own breath shaking in her throat. The puddles in her mind shattered—memories turning into glass, breaking underfoot.
“Soooo, drinking?” Naz asked, already signaling the bartender. Elyza pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine, but you're taking care of me when I throw up.”
“Yay! Bet. Hey, can we get four Pink Whitney shots and two strawberry margaritas?”
The drinks came, and the girls raised their glasses in a toast.
“To letting loose.”
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
That was the last time Elyzabeth saw Nazira that night.
The first shot they took together burned like acid, making her wince. The second blurred the edges of the room, softening the noise into something almost bearable and not a jackhammer pounding against her skull. She had left the dancefloor to go back alone for the third shot, as Naz was already nowhere to be found. Elyza was starting to feel it—her body loosening in ways her mind refused to. Her chest was fueled by the burn of the liquor like a dying campfire, each sip stoking confidence she didn't have.
Skin against skin.
Mouths, hands, strangers.
The kind of touch that didn’t require remembering, didn’t demand trust, didn’t leave her vulnerable when the lights came on.
Around her, the bar seemed to pulse with promise. Sweat clung to the air, acute with perfume and spilled liquor. Laughter rang out in jagged bursts, too bright, too alive. Every face was blurred by shadow and neon, yet every glance that lingered on her made her spine tingle.
Elyzabeth swayed where she stood to eat me ! by Holywatr; loud sucking and bubbling noises sounded from the bottom of her glass. She set it down on a side table filled with empty glasses and cans. She closed her eyes for a second, letting the music wash over her—until she felt it:
a presence at her back.
He didn’t touch her at first. Just the nearness of him, close enough that she caught the warmth radiating off his body, close enough that her movements suddenly weren’t her own but part of his rhythm. His breath brushed the shell of her ear as he leaned in, the crowd around them blurring into sound and color. A hand ghosted over her hip, testing, waiting for her to pull away.
She didn’t.
The music seemed to throb louder as he stepped fully behind her, their bodies moving together now, his chest grazing her shoulder blades with every beat. Her pulse matched the rhythm, quick and uneven.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost lost in the music.
“I see you finished your drink there. Can I buy you another?”
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Elyza felt the brisk vodka shot slide down her throat.
At first, nothing—then a slow rush, a warmth unfurling from her chest, spreading through her veins like firelight. She slammed the glass on the sticky countertop—her face twisting in mock pain.
“Here.” The stranger pushed a tall glass of water toward her. Ice clinked together. Condensation dripped off the sides.
“Thanks,” she regarded him with a sheepish smile, engulfing the top of the straw for two big gulps.
Her body felt unbearably alive. Her eyes fluttered closed, swaying side to side in her stool, letting the music wash over her.
The press of strangers against her wasn’t suffocating anymore—it was electric, every brush of fabric, every accidental bump sparking across her nerves like static. Even her own skin felt new, fragile, hyperaware. The air smelled of sweat, perfume, terrible cologne, alcohol, and that atrocious cigarette smell, but instead of choking her, it filled her lungs like oxygen she hadn’t realized she was missing.
Elyzabeth blinked, wide-eyed, and for the first time that night, she wasn’t uncomfortable, already forgetting the ache of her cramps.
“You know…I have a way to satisfy both you and I…”
She let her gaze drag over him, taking in the details piece by piece. Black high-top Converse anchored his frame, scuffed and worn to match the rips in his jeans. A white studded belt cut across his hips, sharp against the fitted Sleep Token shirt that clung to his chest before loosening at his stomach. His wrists were stacked with studded and spiked bracelets, metal catching the light, and his hair was a tousled mess—as if his hands had raked through it one too many times.
Fuck he was hot. Opposite to what she has been dating. Pretty boys.
Elyza returned to his eyes with a polite smile.
“Um, no, I don't do drugs if that's what you're asking.”
They exchanged laughs.
“That's good, that's good, but I wasn't referring to that, no…” He swallowed, his eyes raking her form.
“You’re cramping, aren't you? Is it from your period?”
Elyza cocked her head in confusion. “Ummm, yeah, but it's nothing, haha, it'll pass.”
As if on ungodly timing—the familiar, sharp pang of her cervix dilating gave way to a gelatinous release, a dense warmth that felt too solid to be just blood. She froze. Tensing from a stab at her abdomen, but truly wondering if she just bled through her fucking clothes.
He stepped closer—hand rested on her shoulder—eyes closed, and nose tilted toward the air like a dog.
“Ummm, you good?” She questioned, giving him a once-over, eyebrows pinched in ‘wtf was that.’
After a deep inhale, the man’s nose kept flaring. He took his hand off her shoulder and held it up for her to take. His eyes flashed from brown to a deep crimson. “Fuck, sorry, it's just that you smell so good.”
“Whyy, thank you! I’m wearing Vanilla 2-”
“Just come with me.”
The stranger’s hand found her wrist before she could put him onto her scent profile. Not tight, not gentle either—just insistent enough to make her pulse leap. The bar spun in a blur of neon and shadowy figures as he tugged her through the press of bodies, every step a stumble.
“W-wait, where are we going?”
The bathroom door loomed ahead, glowing brightly with a white fluorescent gender-inclusive sign overhead. Elyzabeth was blinking slowly, her eyes searching the crowd for Naz.
Nazira and that same stupid blonde man migrated to a couch in the back corner of the bar. She straddled his waist, gripping his dirty blonde strands as she licked into his mouth; his hands inching their way up her skirt.
Great, she can’t even tell her where she's going. Or the possibility that she might get laid?
The music dulled as the creaky wooden door swung shut behind them, replaced by the hum of bad fluorescent lights and the muffled thud of bass through the walls. The smell of urine and throw up invaded her nose as the stranger dug his fingers into her hips, pushing her further into the bathroom.
Her back hit the cool tile, and her jacket caught beneath her shoulders. She raised her hands to steady herself on his broad shoulders. The room spun in protest to all this movement, and as if he understood, the man wrapped his arms around her waist to ground her. In this lighting, clear of neon, Elyza noticed he looked really pale compared to her brown skin—almost as if he had never been in the sun.
“Wait…why are we here? What do you mean by relief? I don't have to pee. Oh my god, what if someone needs the bathroom?” Elyzabeth’s words slipped out thick and slurred as she giggled, her mouth chasing the pace her mind couldn’t keep. Everything moved too fast and too slow at the same time. Above the toilet, oversized flies tangled in frantic figure-eights, their wings colliding in erratic bursts. In the corner, a steady drip fell from the ceiling, each drop stretching into slow motion before it broke the surface of the overflowing bucket below—
rippling,
sloshing,
spilling
over the edge, as if time itself were unraveling.
She blinked, turning to meet the eyes of the man.
He hummed in thought, wedging his muscular thigh in between hers.
His shadow was blotting out the light as though he’d carved out a world where only the two of them existed. When his hand rose—hovering just short of her jaw—she felt the charge hum across her skin, a silent dare for her to move away.
She didn’t.
“They’re either going to wait or piss outside.” His baritone voice vibrated through his chest to hers.
“Wait for what?” She whispered.
“For when I'm done with you, pretty girl.”
TW¡
His thumb and index gripped her chin, tilting her face toward him. His eyes circled her eyes, lips, then back up again. With each inhale, the air between them tasted intoxicating with various alcohols and cigarettes, her breath quickening before his lips ever found hers. One beat turned to two, before he inevitably bent closer, the tension snapping like ocean waves crashing against jagged rocks.
His plush lips pushed against hers—claiming—the kind of kiss that left no room for thought. The heat of it sank into her veins—he tasted like salt and bitterness, like something dangerous she couldn’t spit out.
She meant to resist—just a second, long enough to convince herself she still had some grip on reality. Instead, her fingers fisted his shirt, dragging him closer, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing keeping her afloat.
He was…in a way.
He forced his tongue into her mouth and licked behind her teeth. A shock of metal flicked against her tongue, sending a jolt up her spine. She gasped into him, her breath caught somewhere between surprise and hunger, rising onto her toes as though the ground could no longer hold her. His body was all hard lines and heat, and she leaned into every inch, losing herself in the sheer force of him. He supported her weight, pulling her into him as his fingers dug into the meat of her ass, growling in approval.
The kiss deepened, and he dropped her chin to enfold his hand around her throat, occasionally squeezing the remnants of air out of her. She moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed it all.
Then a sharp sting blooming across her lip—unexpected, electric. She jerked back half an inch, breath trembling, tasting copper and tapping her bottom lip. Their ragged breaths mingled together. His gaze snapped to the spot where he’d caught her, and something low and pleased rumbled out of him, a sound that vibrated straight through her bones.
He dived down with intense fervor. Openly sucking her bottom lip, his tongue licked at the spot, causing it to gush some more. The searing heat of the kiss was flipped with every lick as his tongue piercing cooled the wound. He groaned, “So good,” and licked at her lips some more.
Teeth clashing, her desperation answering his hunger in a rhythm as frantic as the bassline rattling the walls. The stranger pulled back, wedging his index and middle fingers into her mouth. Elyzabeth was losing her mind. Manhandled into wherever he wanted her, fingers in her mouth, his other thumb and forefinger pressing deliciously in the side of her neck.
“Stick your tongue out.” He commanded her back to this central plane called Earth. She tilted her chin up, opening and sticking her tongue out without hesitation. He hummed, “Good girl.” He praised. A contemptuous glob of saliva fell directly into the back of her throat. She swallowed, savoring the taste of him, a shiver running down the top of her scalp to the tips of her toes.
He spat in her mouth two more times. Praise easily fell from his lips. “That's it, good fucking job.”
The stranger used his thumb to tilt her head to the side. He bent down. His tongue jutted past his lips and licked a column of her throat.
Elyza stood breathless, trembling, her nails digging into his back. Lips,
throbbing,
twinging,
pulsating
He blew air on her neck like a chuckle as if he could smell her arousal. Shit. Maybe he can it was palpable.
“Sensitive, hm?” It was almost as if his voice dropped another octave— his mouth traced along the plane where her neck curved into her shoulder. Elyzabeth exhaled, tilting her head to give him more room, her pulse stuttering where his mouth trailed. His grip shifted, letting go of her throat and waist, he cupped the underside of her ass and lifted her against the wall, prompting her to wrap her legs around his waist.
Elyza glanced down at him, watching as he held her in one arm to let the other cup her right breast. His thumb flicked over the hardened peak since she didn't wear a bra; she felt the heat of his finger drag over the rough fabric of her dress.
He sighed, dropped his arm back down, and placed his head between her cleavage.
“As much as I’d love to play with you, I'm pressed for time.”
The hazy fog surrounding her mind cleared up.
“Oh, if you have somewhere you need to be, we can um, stop…” She trailed off, hoping the disappointment didn't bleed into her voice.
“No. Instead of making you come several times, it would unfortunately have to be one.”
“S-several?!” Her voice squeaked.
The man hummed in response.
Everything blurred as he lowered himself, the world tilting and lurching upward. Lyz felt his hands sprawl on her butt, effortlessly hauling her up and settling her body on his broad shoulders.
Elyzabeth’s legs snapped together, her calves crossing over each other, creating an ‘x’ on his back. Her nails dug into the top of his head as she felt his grinning lips flush against her clothed ones. She moved the hair on his forehead out of the way to see his expression. “Wha-what are you doing?”
The stranger nose-dived. She yelped, gripping his hair tightly in surprise. His eyes rolled back into his head as his nose circled her sopping panties—inhaling copious amounts of her sex.
“Fuck, you smell so so good, doll, I’m shaking.”
His eyebrows pinched together as if he struggled to pull away, nosing at her clit. Lyz moaned lowly in her throat, shamelessly rutting her hips into his nose.
He pulled a nose hair away, eyes refocusing, he plopped his head on her left thigh, sliding his cheek back and forth like a cat. “Gonna be good and ride my face, hm?” His teeth grazed her thigh. “Say it, say you’ll be good.”
Lyz swallowed thickly. Her brain scattered—
“Say it, pretty girl, don't make me repeat myself.”
“Yes i-ill be good.”
“And?”
“And ride your face.”
She hissed at the pinch piercing her thigh, a droplet of blood bubbling at the surface. He latched onto the spot, his tongue piercing, thumping against her thigh as he was sucking and twirling at the small wound.
Fuck this was so hot.
Elyza was burning up. He felt so cold against her—cooling her ignited skin. The stranger’s nose pressed into her clothed cunt, bumping her clit and audibly inhaling. Lyz gasped, her thighs involuntarily squeezing his head and her fingers digging into his scalp.
Her eyes were wide as she watched him slightly pull back and clamp his teeth on the fabric of her orange lace panties, tugging on them like a feral dog to expand the ripped hole. Wind flicked and gave little kisses to her exposed skin; shivers racked up her spine from how hard the stranger was staring. He scoffed.
“Why is this in the way?”
Her face was burning hot at the realization that her period had started today, and the ‘this’ he was referring to was her fucking tampon.
The things you forget when you think with your coochie.
“My period star-?!”
The man clenched the string between his teeth, his unnaturally long tongue coiling around it like a serpent. With a sharp tug of his head, he drew the bloodied tampon free. Elyzabeth quivered as the clotted remnants clung to the cotton, releasing with a wet, sucking squelch. The sodden mass dropped against his chin, streaking his black shirt with a spreading blot of crimson. He turned abruptly, spitting it aside as if it was an insult to be in his mouth; it struck the wall with a dull thud then sliding down and flopping onto the grimy tiles below.
Elyzabeth swallowed—bewildered. Was that hot or disgusting she could not tell.
He turned back, red slitted eyes peering up, meeting her gaze, mouth open, and tongue lolled out as he gave her a long swipe from her entrance to her swollen clit.
White static filled her mind when her head flew back, hitting the wall. She felt the distinct vibrations from him groaning through her body, and she couldn't help but let out one herself as his tongue quickly swiped at her hole.
“Fuck, you taste so fucking good.” He mumbled, nosing at her bundle of nerves. She peeked with one eye at the stranger, his mouth covered in blood and slick. The blood on his chin partially dried, cracked in some areas like a bloody river as his mouth opened wider to engulf her slit.
Her whole body shuddered. Lacing her fingers into his black hair, her nails digging into his scalp.
“Almost like…” His tongue flicked at her clit. “Pomegranates.”