Page 43 of Quiet Rage
Sliding my arms under her thighs, I spread her open for me before. I’ve never gone down on a girl. I never wanted to before, but I do with her. I want to know what she tastes like; I want to feel her come in my tongue.
“What are you doing?” Tamson asks breathlessly when I bring my mouth to her pussy.
“What do you think I’m doing?” I’m so close, she must feel my breath on her skin. “Just lie back and enjoy this.”
I press my tongue against her hot clit, and her whole body shudders. Grinning against her core, I lick and suck on the most sensitive part of her until a soft whimper falls from her lips.
This time when I look up to her face, her lips are slightly parted, her eyes still closed but her features relaxed. Her fingers are tangled in the sheet, her knuckles white from holding on to the fabric so tightly.
I continue playing with her swollen clit when she ever so slightly rolls her hips, pressing her pussy right into my mouth. I increase the pressure on the small bundle of nerves, feeling her pulse against me.
Her back arches off the bed, her thighs quiver, and the sweetest moan escapes her. I almost come in my pants.
Eager to prolong her orgasm, I keep teasing her until her whole body finally relaxes into the mattress. I pull away from her pussy, crawl back up her body.
She looks so peaceful for a moment, I think she is asleep. Then her eyes flutter open, her look dazed, as if she is not sure what just happened. Clarity finds her too soon. She sobers, her features turning from contentment back to guardedness.
“What’s next?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I would love to get my cock out and push it inside of her tight cunt. That’s what she is expecting. But today I want something even more. I want to gain her trust. I don’t know why it’s so important to me, but there is a part deep inside my chest that yearns for it.
“We should go to sleep,” I say, clearly surprising her.
“You don’t want anything in return?” she questions, like she can’t believe I’m serious.
“Just asking for half of the bed.” I roll over to lie down on my back.
As soon as I’m off her, she reaches for the blanket at the bottom of the mattress and pulls it over her body. I reach over to the bedside lamp, flicking the light off, and plunging us into darkness.
I keep staring at the ceiling until my eyes adjust and the light coming from the window is enough to see the walls again.
I’m not a big talker so coming up with something to say is hard, but I want to talk to her. I want to know things about her, and the only way that will happen is to ask.
“What made you get the dragonfly tattoo?” I say the first question that comes to mind.
She lets me wait a few seconds, and I wonder if she is going to give me an honest answer or is she trying to come up with a lie.
“It’s a memorial tattoo,” she finally says. “I got it for my brother. I saw a dragonfly on his grave, and my dad told me that somecultures believe dragonflies are like a messenger from the dead, trying to bring loved ones comfort.”
“Did it work? Did it bring you comfort?”
“Not enough.”
I feel her answer in my bones. There is no comfort when it comes to losing someone you love. I know that very well.
“I lost my mom when I was eight.” It feels weird saying it out loud. The words feel foreign on my tongue because I haven't said them in so long. I never talk about her at all, her memory only kept alive inside my mind.
“I’m sorry, that must have been hard.” Tamson’s caring voice wraps around me, the genuine sympathy in her tone soothing something inside of me.
“Do you have a lot of fond memories of her?”
“Yes, all of my memories of her are good ones. She was always gentle and kind,” I explain, remembering the love I always felt from her. “I don’t even remember her ever raising her voice at me.”
“I can’t say the same about my brother. We used to fight sometimes, usually about the dumbest things. We would yell at each other at the top of our lungs. I even miss that. I miss a lot of things…” She trails off, letting a moment of silence linger between us.
I think about all the things I miss about my mom. The list is long, and thinking about it brings up feelings I’m not comfortable with.
I try to think about something else, pushing the grief and sadness somewhere it can’t touch me. For some reason that’s harder today than usual. I feel like my carefully constructed wall is cracked, the darkness I try to keep away seeping out.
