In she walked.
Black leather mini.
Spike stilettos.
Fishnets.
And—hey, where did you get one of my work shirts?
Doesn’t matter.
She’s a vision.
Her hair loose at the shoulders
Eyes ablaze with fire.
Now we’re talking, baby.
She unbuttons the shirt, half way.
No bra, she shows me.
No panties, I’m thinking.
Who cares?
They ain’t gonna be on long any way.
“Got my nails done.” She says.
Blood red.
She shows me, exposing her claws.
Now we’re talking, baby.
She forces me back on the couch.
It almost hurts.
Almost.
Who cares?
So much for that shirt.
Torn to shreds.
Got plenty more.
She bites me.
Sliding her hands around my back.
Claws out.
She digs in.
Who cares?
I don’t.
We grab each other.
Forcing our tongues in each other’s mouths.
Hard.
She wraps her thighs around my waist.
Hard.
Her claws dig in.
“Am I hurting you?” She breathes.
“Not enough.” I hiss. “Try harder, baby. Blood washes out.”
Besides who cares?
We don’t.
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