Her beauty was in the softness of her, the smoothness. She was powerful and long and structured, but every structure had its elegance. She was a machine of muscle, but made of finer parts. When she moved, she flowed. When she stepped, she tensed. She was feline and steel wire and sensual strength. She was a monster and I had to have her.
The first blow caught her chin and blood flew red, a dark alarm. The second strike she caught in her fist and her eyes were blazing cold and burning green. I felt a shiver and then my jaw shattered like so much china. It was agony. I smiled anyway and ran my fingers through her chocolate hair.
I shoved that sculpted face of hers through the plaster of the hallway and her grunt shook her from her shoulders to her calves. It was tantalizing and I was caught off guard by the hook of her foot. I started to fall back and she caught me like a dance, lifted me like a skater’s partner, drove me down like a stake. My skull might have fractured. Either way, my head was swimming from the experience. I laughed. She screamed and kicked.
I bit her leg and with a jerk of my neck, she was down. I was on her. Then she was on me. Then I was on her, and her heels were in me. I cracked her ribs and she clawed my face. I howled and she roared. I tore the second skin off of her finer workings and she dug her nails into my belly so deep I felt empty inside. She shoved back my chin and fell onto my ass.
She mounted me, took me. Beat me. I was bruised and bloody and floating and flying. We grunted like beasts and colored like the sunset. I filled her until she couldn’t moan and then I filled her full and strong and she drank me until I was nothing. We collapsed in sweat and red and shocks of pain. We were done.
I never got her number, but she took my wallet.
Two years ago, she sent a picture. My daughter is so beautiful. Just like her mother.
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