Feed Me
XxX
Her mascara smudges into laugh lines, cradling smoky eyes. The young snow sparkles off her hair and face. Damp tendrils set loose droplets of water on her coat.
Bella smiles at him and exhales in almost-relief when he answers the door in the same state of undress she left him in. Hours have passed, but the desire to reclaim them overwhelm her.
She had originally stepped out to hail a cab, but none were available. Lingering at a nearby coffee shop, she heard the collective chatter celebrating a snow day.
She bought a coffee and listened to the baristas speak of closing early. Their usual surly moods were on the upswing as they smiled at customers and, like the rest of the City, discussed the pleasures of a snow day.
Looking around the shop, she didn't have to be a mind reader to know their thoughts and whispers.
The pierced barista pulling shots of espresso was thinking of behind-the-counter sex with his co-worker. The petite blonde, coiffed in power-suit fashion, glimmered with anticipation of a relaxing day with her cats. The couple at the window, clearing their table with touching fingers, had eyes for sex.
The snow held promise of debauched indulgence behind closed doors.
Hours of snow stacked up on the swings in the park across the street. She smiled while blowing her coffee cool, thinking of him and his hands.
Rough, they've been to places, inside and outside of her.
The decision was made.
She placed a call, and walked back the way she came.
XxX
He wastes no time and has her up against the cold sliding glass doors.
Fingers of winter air tease her neck. Her skin blushes white and pink with every thrust. The gathered frost bites and nips at her back furiously until she comes undone like a snowman. He fucks her until his thighs burn.
When he sets her feet down, his fingers graze her chilled thighs and rub them, as if by extension, he can warm them both.
She chokes back a tiny sob into his chest and masks it with a plea for food.
She is ravenous.
"Feed Me."
XxX
Holding hands, they hike the naked city streets to a corner market. She wears his favorite college sweatshirt under her coat. The threadbare hoodie crinkles snugly around her face, thief-like.
The piercing wind makes her eyes glisten.
He buys her chocolate bars, and she laughs when he throws glow-in-the-dark condoms into their hand basket. Waltzing up and down the aisles of the bright store, they pick up as much as their arms can carry.
In front of the frozen food case, stalled by their reflections in the glass, he makes up a tale about feasts of fancy, whispering a story of two children setting off into the woods, fighting off evil winter sprites and coming upon a sprawling buffet.
"A buffet of what," she says to his reflection, with a tang of cynicism.
"Of this," he motions toward the candy aisle.
"Powdered donuts, ropes of Red Vines, ginger ale." He throws it all in. "Chili hot dogs, Vienna sausages, corn chips, potato chips, ranch dip, bean dip, cheese dip, ice cream, and juice."
He grabs her by the waist. She grabs another basket.
At the counter, she points behind the cashier and adds antacids to their purchase.
A/N:
I like candy.
Thanks to Cesca Marie and WriteOnTime for not letting go.