She was tired of resisting; all that good girl fake lustless crap was some kind of sick divine punishment to the reality of her hormones. April returned Zach’s kiss with more ferocity than either was prepared for. They tumbled against gray furniture, teeth clanking and hands groping, but Zach caught her against his body and held her still.
Fresh laundry detergent, alcohol and ode de boy wafted into her. “You’re okay with this?”
The question was gentle wind on April’s bubbling magma belly: ember caught and sparked. She wasn’t sure what she was consenting to, but she knew she wanted more. “Yes.”
She was suddenly underneath him, old fabric groaning a mildewed puff against her back and jeans scrubbing down her hips. Panties grazed toenails.
Her frontal lobe spun to the base of her neck. Over his shoulder, the ceiling oscillated from red pinpricks to gray clouds. “Please be careful, Zach.”
He softened and slowed. “I thought so.”
Terry cloth slid under her butt.
Where did he find a towel?
Tender fingers touched her cheek the same moment the head of his penis nudged between her thighs. She winced when the pressure tugged a stray hair and she fanned her knees to accommodate the sting. Then dry flesh found moist reservoir and Zach plunged inside. April blinked hard and swallowed her yelp.
“I love you, April.” His face hovered over hers, arms surrounding her head in a loose embrace. He was saying more that she didn’t understand; breath was hot, words mumbled.
April couldn’t speak. Her eyes rolled in their sockets as he drove in and eased out, a slick, swelling burn.
“Blood is sticky, but you’re so fucking wet.” Zach’s voice hitched and he shivered all over. He collapsed, a million tons of melted steel on her chest.
This flash fiction is a part of the Blogging From A to Z (April 2015) Challenge. A new installment arrives every day in April, following the alphabet; check the calendar below to see which letters post on which days. Read more about this blogfest HERE.