snackycake
The surrounding air was heavy, heady, laden with lust. It was like being a kid again, what with the fogged windows and that overwhelming sense of urgency. There were no parents to catch them out, now, no reason to kiss and grope and gasp like horny teenagers. But there was no reason not to, either, and maybe that's what egged them on. Maybe that's what they both needed.
He watched with mouth agape, utterly entranced, as she wound a coil of copper-bright hair over and again around one slender finger. The nail of said finger was bitten to the quick and bloodied along the remaining ragged edge. There was a freckle on her knuckle, a spatter of caramel against the ivory of her skin.
He didn't have what one would call a "career," per se, but he did just fine for himself when all was said and done. He'd worn an odd assortment of hats over the years since high school, he'd punched a fuckton of clocks, but he got the most gratification from working on a crew for one of the local contractors. He liked being out in the elements, the sun roasting all of that pent-up restless energy out of him. He liked the idea that he was crafting something significant with his bare hands. A place where a family would live. It didn't matter that HE didn't have a home – or a family, even. The simple expenditure of blood, sweat, and tears worked a special kind of magic all its own. Even were it not for the pride he felt at the end of each day, the job kept him in nicotine and whiskey, which was half the damn battle.
There were consequences for the things he'd done. He understood that now, better than he ever had. The words he'd tossed around so carelessly, the lives he'd trashed like seedy motel rooms on a hot summer night after tumbling off the wagon and into a bottle of cheap whiskey. Oh, yes, Phelps, there were consequences, and they would be unanimously severe.
He couldn't take his eyes from her breasts. They were massive; mountainous, even. Great peaks of pale flesh that begged to be stroked by both hand and tongue alike.
I yearned for quiet, for the cacophony in my head to cease, for my mind to be still. The thoughts roiled like hurricane waves, chasing each others tails and winding together to form a knot of tension between my shoulder blades, in the space where my heart used to be.
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