Page 29 of Of Poison & Pumpkins
At the bottom, the hostess stops and explains, “We’ll be going through a door. When you hear it open, silence is required. If you have anything to say, do so now. The poetry duel will start in five minutes and snacks will be served.”
“While blinded and tied?”
“Magic will tingle your lips and feed you things that symbolizes the poems’ themes. If you want a drink, turn your head to your left and a straw will appear by magic.”
Adrenaline kicks in. This is sexy as Sols.
“You okay?” Rynn whispers.
“Yeah, but how will we find Alexandra’s ex in the dark? If we’re tied up I doubt that?—”
“Oh, you’re here for Shannon?” The hostess’s high-pitched, casual voice is intense in this darkness. “I’ll let her know.”
“Oh, one more question, one or two chairs?” she asks.
I reply with “two,” at the same time that Rynn says, “one.”
Well, then. A fluttering feeling tussles in my stomach.
“Ready?” the hostess asks.
I take a calming breath.
“Yeah,” Rynn says.
I feel her fingertip brush against mine, still cuffed next to me. That slight touch alone makes my dick twitch. This might be my personal torture. Every inch of skin feels sensitive. As the door opens and we move forward, there’s a tingling in my fingers and toes.
Overwhelming incense fills my nostrils, and I instantly feel like I’ll get high on the thick, muggy scent. A few scuffles and scrapes sound nearby, but I can’t tell how close people are or the size of the space. There are a few sniffing sounds, followed by a quiet cough, and the sound of a microphone bumping against something.
The hostess stops and shifts my hips, then gently pushes me down onto a soft couch. I sink into the deep cushions and Rynn’s arm moves with me. I’ve never felt my heart beat so rapidly before. It’s like I drank five espressos in a row. My foot taps on the floor until I realize I’m supposed to stay silent.
Soft skin swipes against mine, warm and silken. Rynn nudges my side and a body part rubs against my leg. Oh my goddess, Rynn’s going to straddle me. Holding my breath, I wait until she settles, her crotch against mine, weight on my lap. Who in the bloody vampire invented this place? They deserve a Nobel Prize.
Her thighs are wrapped around my waist. Our wrists are still bound and connected, miraculously comfortable. My free hand settles on her lower back to keep her steady and I resist massaging up along her spine. Rynn’s torso leaves space between mine, and I thank my lucky stars that I had a mint in the car. I want to ask if she’s still okay, but when she shifts her hips against my middle again, the message is loud and clear. Not only is she fine, she’s enjoying this as much as I am.
Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve found my match. The longing to kiss her is so intense I may snap in half. Her soft breaths become audible, a little faster. I’m on the edge of sanity. I crane my neck back as if I’m praying to some higher being and beg my body to control itself. No grinding. No thrusting. Don’t taste her neck. Don’t initiate. She obviously wants the power and control, and I’ll gladly allow it. Part of me wonders if this is some sort of test since she knew how this café functions.
A loud thump causes Rynn to jump, and I groan as she jerks against my erection. I’ve never been this hard in my life.
“YOU TAKE!” a female voice hisses harshly into a microphone somewhere to my left, voice raw with urgency. “YOU MAKE. MAKE ME. NO TIME TO SUFFER.” She pauses, for one, two, three beats. I’m waiting for more, wondering what will happen next, when her voice hits me like a drum to my ear. “YOU GRAB. YOU JAB. JAB ME. LOVE ME HARDER.”
The vulnerability in the voice is a strange, foreign nag under my skin. Has Rynn ever written a poem? Has she bled her emotions through ink onto a page? Does she have shadows buried deep that I don’t know about? Is that why she brought me here?
With her on my lap, a line has been crossed. When we leave this café later, I know there will be a tectonic shift in our relationship. It’s up to me to make sure it’s a positive change.
A soft touch feathers against my cheek. I open my mouth, without a clue as to what flavor or texture will be dropped inside.
I hear soft crunching sounds from Rynn, warning me it’s something that needs chewing. A thin, salty substance slips over my tongue. A cracker. I munch and munch, ultra-sensitive to the crisp, rough, texture, then how it develops shapes and builds into a moist ball before I swallow. I turn my neck and a straw pokes at my lips. I may grunt in surprise because a tiny laugh slips out of Rynn. The sound itself makes my dick twitch again. Fantasies start to play out in my head that I must ignore to survive this.
Uncoordinated, I use my lips to position the straw, then slurp a cold, tangy liquid that reminds me of a sugary juice I always had as a kid—maybe kiwi-flavored. My cheeks pucker in response and I shake my head, not expecting something sweet.
“Lost at midnight,” a deep male’s voice says into the microphone, a voice made for radio. “Leave me in pieces.”
A gong chimes somewhere, vibrating through my bones.
“Slices of my soul,” the poet continues, “edge of infinite or never. Breathe in or fall, fall, fall to the depths.”
A finger swipes at my cheek. Something soft and squishy is placed on my tongue. Strawberry. Its juices spill into my mouth and I want to taste Rynn’s lips, to check if she’s having the same food.
