Winning entries for the short story competition by Melissa Fischer, the entries are Peppermint Bloom and Coffee.Word.Angel
I’ve tasted every flavor. Worn every color.
I’d be hard pressed to find a combination that failed to satisfy. How could I?
When there are so many textures.
Cross the threshold of my world and you enter a sexual all-you-can-eat buffet.
I starve for no one, crave everyone.
And I can never be sated.
**** **** **** ****
She walked the street as she did every night, electrified senses anticipating the hunt to come for just the right morsel, just the right tightly wound scrap. The slate-gray rock steered her through the twilight space cadets and the midnight molls, beyond the users and the used and the shadows where the Darkness forced her to dwell, toward the sinners of the city just leaving their high-rise flats for a night on the town.
It was a delicacy that she hungered for this night. Something unique. She was constantly exploring new mixtures of spice and sensation and want. No one was like another. But, tonight, it was wholly fresh notes she desired. And exposing the finest concoctions meant a jaunt toward the metropolitan, toward money that would acquire and inject the most exotic of substances, altering their core just because they could. Because they were bored.
Except they’re displeasure was her satisfaction.
Trash and treasure. Poison and Meat.
The Charlatan was a ritzy club at the city’s center. Set at the top of its own sky-rise establishment, the garish exterior lights palpitated to the beats inside, summoned the well-to-do with insinuations of indulgence and iniquity. A line of wishful thinkers cordoned to the back-alley wrapped a mile long, each miserable soul eager for an opening to rub elbows with the carefree elite. Little did they realize that discontent rears its head in many shapes and forms, and money produced its own strain of vessels clambering to fill personal voids.
Just another zing for the blend.
She strolled past the yearning bourgeois, leaving the h’orderves for another day, another meal, and effortlessly sashayed through security to the lift. After all, appearances were everything and her attributes were in the eye of the beholder. Favoritism rules the world. And fortune always favors the wicked.
The lift attendant’s bobbing Adam’s Apple belied his nervousness as stilettoed thigh high boots eclipsed his downward view. Dispatching the conveyor, he chanced a sideways glance, meeting dilated pupils and a lascivious grin. The boy was enticing in his crimson jumpsuit and sparse goatee and his pubescent musk made her stomach rumble. However, as inviting as his arousal was, she was familiar with his aroma and reminded herself it was the untried she was after. A feast.
Not a snack.
The lift popped to a halt, the gate opening into a throng of undulating anatomy, rhythm and movement that welcomed her. She immediately stepped into the embrace, body and limbs sliding through and around as much of the fare as was reachable. Breasts and thighs and arms and arses colliding and gliding and rubbing and dripping. A serving of rapture inside a strobed paradise. She scented each fleshy slice as she moved through the throng, until one foreign note drifted to her attention. Fixating on the fragrance, she moved toward the body propped at the bar.
He was toned and coiled taut, corded biceps flexing as a shot was thrown home, gaze piercing the crowd. She sidled up beside him, gestured two drinks from the bartender, and breathed a lingering inhalation. His bouquet was crisp, mouthwatering.
His eyes found hers.
She wet her lips in invitation. “Those are some X-rated thoughts you have.”
Leaning in, he smirked as his gaze swept her down and up, clearly enjoying the view. “Mind reader, are you?”
“Not quite. But I know a hungry man when I see one.” Seduction. An extraordinary tactical exercise of power. Passive-aggressive by nature, but ever the more effective because.
He laughed quietly, inclining his head to the side. “Do you?”
Understanding clucked from her tongue as the bartender presented the fresh round, the glasses set between the pair. “Fancy a nip?” She gestured to the snifters, nudging one his way.
“It wouldn’t be the first of the night, you know.”
She brandished a Cheshire grin and raised her glass in salute.
“Cheers. I’m just getting started.”
**** **** **** ****
Arrogance makes for easy prey.
Fingers fumbled with the suite door’s bolt as the two scrabbled for hold of one another, bodies frantically crashing and bouncing. Lips entwining. Tongues locking in primordial battle until the need for oxygen prevailed.
Breaking away, she dabbed moisture from the corners of her mouth and sidestepped wondering hands to scope the accommodations. Reds and blacks. Satins and silks. “Nice room.” She moved to the windowed wall, taking in the view of the twinkling city. Her banquet.
He swaggered to the bed and reclined to his elbows, ego oozing.
“Yes, it is. Soundproofed walls. Mirrored windows. One hundred percent private.”
She reflected on her fortune, her tongue absently grazing her teeth. “All for you?”
“What can I say? They’re ravenous to please their profligates.”
She spun on him then, breathing his aroma, eyes betraying her appetite.
His eyes darkened. “Tell me what it is you crave and I’ll see what I can do.”
His gaze narrowed.
“I’m thinking…” She took another deep, lingering inhalation, eyes fluttering in bliss. ““Peppermint. And wildflowers. And rime.” Each ingredient was punctuated by a single step forward. She reached a hand to the side of his face, stroking downward. Stubbled cheek. Strong jaw. Pulsing neckline.
He laced his fingers with hers, pulling her hand away, and stood, towering over her. Bracing the small of her back, he wrenched her body into his. “Strange. Because I’m thinking it’s skin.” Stretching her arm, he kissed the hollow of her elbow. “And salt.” He licked and nipped the base of her throat, her head lolling with sensation.
“And cum.” His hardness ground against her belly.
He turned and pitched them both to the bed, skillfully catching his weight, mattress springing from the force. Crouching above her, he gripped a fistful of slinky fabric and ripped, fleetingly freeing a milky breast before swallowing its nipple in hot, moist oblivion. Lips and tongue and teeth distracted while his hands continued their work, pulling and liberating flesh from material confines.
It was a blur of brilliance, need and want converging to fruition. She gasped in lecherous satisfaction, her own hands scratching and divesting of cloth until skin joined skin. Fingers clutched hair. Nails scored tissue. His mouth moved to her other nub, tongue memorizing every juncture and ridge while her palm found his cock and did the same. He moaned a deep, appreciative sound, a tone that vibrated her core, flooding her in wet heat.
His scent bubbled and simmered around her, driving her sanity to its very brink, as his mouth nibbled down stomach, lapped at thigh, and finally paused at her entrance. A single puff of air and she was quaking, chill clashing with warmth, hands grasping shoulders in white-knuckled restraint.
Patience, after all, is only desperation in disguise.
Unable to refrain any longer, she hooked a calf around his waist and flipped him to his back with ease, her small frame masking her strength. “My turn.”
She panted as she straddled his thighs, eying his weeping length before deftly encasing its bulk in mouth and throat. He gurgled and whimpered, tendons tightening and heels digging with the unexpected suction, the room dizzying with the abrading friction of teeth. Her fingers found purchase on hipbone, stilling his mindless bucking. She abruptly pulled away, his erection bobbing a jolt of nerves, his eyes snapping open in excitement, curiosity, preparation. Each and all.
She positioned herself above him, fixed his gaze, and swathed him in her velvet warmth. Each loosed a guttural groan as hilt met clit, appetite met repletion.
Her hand snaked behind her, fingers massaging testes as she began a steady rhythm. Up. Down. Cha-cha-cha. His hands captured her breasts and kneaded to the same time.
Steady swelled to frenzied. Fingers repositioned between folds and splayed on pectorals. Thighs bobbed as glutes thrust. Building. Mounting. Intensifying.
Taking hold of his hands, she pinned them to the pillows as she arced over him. Gasps and huffs mingled as lips skimmed in almost-touch. He smelled so delicious. She mouthed the nape of his neck, bit as G-spot was hit, licked as blood trickled. Peppermint.
He surged at the sting, cock rippling in one orgiastic wave after another. She clenched around him, her own body thrown into orgasmic convulsions. Pheromones released.
Hands cupped faces, each guiding the other closer as they rode the seemingly interminable tide together. Lips parted. Breath held. An opaque effluence emitted from each pair and travelled outward, the two threads momentarily spiraling and sparking as they met, coming to end in the other’s swallow. She to him. He to her.
Icy chill corkscrewed their insides.
Each gave and took. Too much. Not enough. Their bodies rolled top to bottom and back, struggling for control. Yet as the effluence faded to extinction, they found themselves side by side, gasping and wheezing and dazed.
She bolted upright, eyes wide, hands fluttering over lips and stomach.
“What the fuck?”
He stared unseeing, flat and unmoving. “Exactly.”
Regaining coherency, she tore from the bed, alarmed and exposed.
“What the fuck are you?!”
He rose as well, his calm stupor contrasting her panic. He swallowed against his parched throat and studied her, realization dawning.
She caught the recognition and shook her head vehemently.
“No. There’s no way…is there? We’d be able to tell…wouldn’t we?”
He mulled her questions, each train of thought ending at the same conclusion.
“Considering the recent events, I think we can safely assume no.”
She blanched. “Oh fuck.”
Silence descended. And stretched.
The pair gaped at one another, each feeling the same.
Having only ever known craving and need, they had each thought they lived for the hunger.
Now, they were beginning to understand they’d simply lived with it.