Whisey Chic

They say some women are worth killing and dying for. I used to believe only fools felt that way. Then I met her. She wasn't worth killing and dying for, though; she was worth lighting the world on fire just to watch the flames dance in her eyes.

A vision of pure beauty, long, athletic legs with thighs that reminded me of a sculpted caress, eyes like brilliant emeralds, breasts so supple and pouty, lips full and perfect, skin smooth as freshly fallen snow, and a posterior that a man could cup with both hands and still never fill his lust.

I took a draw off my whiskey, reminiscing about our last kiss. She was a bonfire of passion, and buildings have burned to the ground with less intensity than her lips poured out. I tasted her lipstick as it stained my lips, felt her tongue pulse alongside mine, and felt the sharp jolt of pain and pleasure as her teeth bit my lips teasingly.

I fingered the barkeep for another as I drained my shot. Some women get inside your head and never leave. That was Lillith, Mistress of my mind, owner of my heart, and keeper of my soul. She was the type of woman who could earn you your spot in Hell and make you glad to have it. Tonight I drank for her memory, gone from my life, perhaps forever.

Eyeing the third shot as if it were my first, I recalled our first night together. Visions of her played hide and seek in my mind's eye as I remembered her passion, slamming me against a wall just to try to break me. I was no pushover though, I enveloped her in my arms and carried her kicking and squealing with delight to the bed. We crashed down hard on the mattress; our bodies entangled as the frame screamed out in protest.

She drew her lacquered nails down my face and chest, playfully trying to draw blood. Somehow, in all the wrestling around, she found herself sitting astride me. Pinning my hands to the mattress took all of her weight, although I was not fighting. She looked down at me, green eyes aglow in the lamplight, a smile eased across her face. Her flowing hair tickled my chest and nipples as she brushed it moving up to my neck.

I fingered the scar she left me that night, teeth bearing her mark on my shoulder. A draw of whiskey and another memory, the taste of her skin in the rain. Thunder rumbling for miles across the sky, lightning cascading like wild bolts of fury, her body, naked silhouetted by crashing brightness. Her nipples standing out against the wind, water beading off them as my lips tenderly glide over and my tongue runs circles. Sucking deep, inhaling her very flesh, she gasps with each nip of my teeth against them.

A blues song comes over the jukebox, mellow and sad, something about lost love. A note plays in my ear and my mind drifts back to the sound of her breathing deep, sighing softly as my lips and tongue taste her mound. Her fingers laced across my head, urging me closer, desperate to grind my mouth to her. My tongue doing double duty between circling her clit and slowly gliding inside her, running a track everywhere in-between.

Too many drinks. My head feels like a spun-out rinse cycle. The world closing around my vision. I had the same feeling when I entered her, penetrating her depths, a finding she was insatiable. She bucked, wild and reckless against me, driving me to the brink, screaming like Hell's mistress. I saw the fury in her eyes as they locked with mine. I can't say how long we went, an hour, a day, God only knows. All I do know is, for an eternity, we shared our passion.

The barkeep says something; I don't know what. My eyes slide closed; I am exhausted. Spent. Just like before, when my world rocked on edge and I shattered my body against hers. The power of my thrusts slamming her closer to the edge. For a moment, we shared a scream, two breaths coming out as one, then darkness as my world collapsed into her body. I vaguely remember her arms wrapped around me, our breathing coming in ragged gasps, sweat beading on our skin.

The world seems dark here; bits of light pass by only to return to the night. Softness huddles close to my face, my bed, my pillow, contorted to my body, just as she contorted to mine as we lay together.

Tomorrow I will swear off drinking and women if I can. But, tonight, I drink for the woman who made me swear off all tomorrows.