Pitch black.
Cool night.
Next door.
She saunters
to the steps.
He sits.
He's been watching.
She's been watching.
Nothing but small talk
since her return.
Neither of them
sleep much.
He is perched
on the stoop.
She sits beside.
He scoots.
She talks.
He shifts his head,
murmurs,
brings his thumb
to his lips.
Too dark to see,
but she can
feel his eyes.
She reaches out
to her knife
on his hip.
Thin fingers
on smooth
leather.
Mid sentence,
he interrupts.
"I missed you."
"Daryl."
"Dammit Beth."
She straddles.
Knees on wood.
Rough hands wrapped
around gold.
Kisses.
Friction.
Little nose,
fuzzy neck.
Woods.
Blood.
Man.
Scruffy mouth
behind an ear.
She grinds.
He groans.
Skirt around hips.
Mouth over collar bones.
She unzips,
lifts,
sinks.
"Shhhh"
Steals his lips.
Aquatic motion.
Heat.
Frantic fingers
dig into curves.
Her ass.
Chest.
Hard peaks
through light cotton.
So, so full.
Soft lips and teeth
on ear lobes.
She draws near.
Clenching.
Bobbing.
"Cum for me Greene."
"Yes Mr. Dixon."
Collapse.
Release.
He'll never quit
chasing this.