Page 18 of Wicked Flavors

This is wrong,Gwendolyn thought even as Ambrosius’ hot tongue traced along her entrance.

Fresh, Earl Grey tea hit her nose before dissolving into something Gwendolyn could only describe as earthy. By the time the shower began running, Ambrosius had slipped his tongue deep inside her. Gwendolyn bucked, hands lost in his hair, but Ambrosius kept her in place, hands strong against her thighs. His nails pierced the soft flesh, leaving raised marks swelling with blood.

She was overwhelmed by the heat of his tongue and all the noise her apartment was making. Between the TV and shower running, Gwendolyn could also hear the motor of her sewing machine start and the microwave switch on. That earthy aroma was overpowering, a mixture of scents overloading her sense of smell.

When hands came around her wrists, Gwendolyn’s moans faltered. She felt the tightening grip, but she could alsostill feel the hands around her thighs. No, he hadn’t moved his hands. There was another set ofhands.

Frightened, Gwendolyn’s eyes flew open.

Ambrosius was staring at her from between her legs. His mouth wasn’t flush against her skin, nose no longer buried in wiry curls. Gwendolyn shuddered at the sight of his inhuman tongue, a ghastly teal colored thing covered in a near black ichor and saliva. Her toes curled as she felt that same tongue undulate, still buried deep inside her. Felt it brush against her insides until she saw nothing but white…

When Gwendolyn woke up, she was in her bed. The bathroom door was ajar, casting her in the familiar dim light. She was alone, with no post coital ache in her body, and no marks on her skin. There was no trace of Ambrosius.

“A dream…” she murmured to herself with a relieved sigh as she flopped back onto her pillow.

But her relief was short-lived as Gwendolyn shifted and felt something wet. Mortified, Gwendolyn hiked her sleeping shirt up and pulled her panties away from her skin. She cursed, feeling her face burn with embarrassment.

Gwendolyn had just experienced the most fucked up wet dream.

“No, anightmare,” she growled as she shoved her comforter away.

8

Confused

Gwendolyn

Gwendolyn made her first cup of coffee at four in the morning. She added an obscene amount of creamer and downed it in three large gulps. It was hotter than she normally drank it, but she needed the extra help. Ordinarily, she would make her cup and it would grow cold long before she could finish it.

Gwendolyn didn’t want to go back to sleep.

When she felt awake enough to trust her coordination, Gwendolyn went to the bathroom. She hung her sleeping shirt up and threw her panties across the room, as if the fabric had betrayed her instead of her own body. Similar to her coffee, she liked her showers a bit lukewarm, too. She was a glutton for routine, but Gwendolyn turned the handle as far to the left as it would go. The shock of the icy water made Gwendolyn wince, body tensing away from the harsh stream.

She shivered as she reached for the netted washing cloth, drenching it in body wash and lathering it along her neck. Gwendolyn let out an irritated groan as the vivid memory of Ambrosius’ mouth against her neck burst to the surface of her thoughts. That nightmare had been … well, more nightmare than Gwendolyn was used to.

Most of the time, Gwendolyn couldn’t remember her dreams. She was usually out like a light, despite her recent venture into insomnia. It was enough to rationalize the whole thing away. Gwendolyn hadn’t slept more than eight hours in a single night for years now. She had always just assumed it was a factor of aging. Older people slept less during the night and more during the day, that sort of thing.

But you don’t really nap either,Gwendolyn thought as she rinsed the soap off her body.Ugh, whatever. You had a dream about a guy you hate, that’s not that weird. All the extra stuff was just … a sleep deprived creative brain doing what it does best!

Even her logic sounded like bullshit to Gwendolyn, but she went with it anyway. She didn’t have time to go online and research all the hidden meanings of everything she saw in her dream.

Or perhaps she didn’t want to know.

Gwendolyn finished her shower and slipped her sleeping shirt back on. She would have to throw it in the dirty clothes hamper before work and swap it out with another, but for breakfast it would work. She didn’t even bother acknowledging her panties.

Breakfast was instant oatmeal with the complimentary brown sugar packet and a fruit bar. Gwendolyn didn’t cook much. It was something she had done when she lived with her family. Gathered in her parents’ small kitchen,Gwendolyn would fry the spam in her mother’s special glaze—which was just white sugar and soy sauce—while her mother would take the cooked pieces and place them onto a bed of rice and nori. She would watch as her mother effortlessly folded it all together, creating the perfect spam musabi.

As a nearly middle-aged woman, Gwendolyn found cooking too time consuming. It took away from her art time, and her dolls were her everything. Meals might not have been the same quality as her family’s, but it was what she was used to now.

After breakfast, Gwendolyn made a second cup of coffee before turning off the single serve machine. Cup in hand, Gwendolyn made the small trip past her bed, eyeing her clock. She would have four hours to work on her doll before she had to get ready for her day job. But that was for later.

Now, Gwendolyn turned the corner of her divider shelf, ready to greet her wonderful dolls—

Who had all moved…

Gwendolyn almost dropped her coffee, trembling hands clutching the cup to her chest as her eyes widened at the sight. Gwendolyn looked at her doll shelf every day. She knew it better than any other part of her house. Even better than the app placements of herphone.She purposefully arranged her dolls to face the balcony, so they could see the lackluster view of her apartment complex parking lot. It wasn’t the best, but it was better than looking atnothing.

So, how the fuck did they move?!

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