You’re hungry the night you meet him.

Fat little raindrops hiss as they meet the footpath and you feel the hisses forming in your mouth too. You feel hard and hot and you don’t flinch from their gazes as you stride up the hill. And you hear yourself murmur as you turn into the bar….I’m going to break someone tonight.

The walk has made your skin flush and the need has made your belly burn and you know the rain will deliver a fight or a fuck. And you really, deep in your heart, don’t care which.

And then you meet him. And you get both.

He has a gap between his teeth and green eyes. He doesn’t know what’s coming. You notice he’s drinking whiskey and you feel a spark of fondness flare, but you stamp it down. When he wants to tell you his name, you stamp that down too. And then he knows what’s coming. And then you really meet him.

The bricks are rough against your back and you like it. You need to feel. There are no streetlights in the alley but you don’t want to see him. And you feel the rain on your skin and your skirt around your waist and when you tell him with a whispered laugh I don’t usually do this you feel the white hot spark as his palm meets your cheek. You feel the heat of his skin as he leans in close and hear the menace in his voice as he hisses……liar. And then you know he’s hungry too.

The bricks grind into your flesh and your heart pounds at the marks you’ll bear. The rain on his belly tastes hot and sweet and you keep drinking. You see his fingers move away with strands of your hair trailing from them like sleeping snakes. Your teethmarks will take days to leave him. This pleases you both. An eye for an eye.

And when it finishes, the hunger in your belly is gone and your legs are twitching. You breathe together as the rain sweeps the sweat slick from your skin. You hope he doesn’t speak. He’s younger than you thought and your mouth curls without meaning to. The gap in his teeth looks beautiful when he smiles back, shy again, through the drizzle.

And before you can shake your head, he curls his hand around yours and the tenderness sends a shock through your body more than the heat and the hunger and the hurt ever could. And this time he believes you when you whisper I don’t do that.

Fat little raindrops hiss as they hit the footpath. You are rich, replete, fed. You don’t flinch from their gazes as you stride down the hill.

© bellmusker 2007