22

22
My hands are tight on her hips, pulling her back onto me, my lips against her back in the winter air, her torso out the window, blunt hanging loosely from her fingers.

Her feet don’t touch the ground—I keep her afloat, so long as I stay inside her.

The flowers, pastries and weed I bought are strewn around the living room—what’s left of it.

She said it was so sweet. She said the roses were beautiful.

“Red, huh?” She’d smiled, tucking one behind her ear.

It’s on the bottom floor now, sitting on top of the dry bushes, brilliant red among the grey. The only spark of life, like blood on snow. Her soft moans sing into the night. I feel every ragged breath against my lips. 

I won’t be back tomorrow. I want her to feel it till then. My hands imprinting on her hips, on her body. I want her to feel me with every step, with every wince.

“You’re so beautiful, Red. So beautiful. More beautiful than roses,” I murmur, biting the back of her neck as she cums. 

I hold her down, and enjoy it. The feeling of her spasming in pleasure around me—pleasure only I bring her.

I wrap my hand around her throat, pull her up. Her blunt drops from her hand, but it’s okay. I’ll roll her another.

“Hey, I have to work for a while. I might be hard to reach,” I whisper in her ear.

She’s not paying attention. “Do you hear me? Nod if you hear me.”

She nods slowly, and I pull her away from the window, ligr her body, take her to her bedroom. I lay her down and sit next to her.

Red’s tired again. She reminds me of a bird. Birds are beautiful, colorful, their songs enchanting and mellifluous. They’re the picture of freedom—it seems they’re innocent and kind.

But anyone who’s upset a bird—and especially a prey bird—knows better than to trust appearances.

They’re dangerous. When they want to hurt you they will.

Red lays her head in my lap. I stroke her face.

“When I come back, I’ll take you somewhere nice. We’ll get dressed up, and I’ll take you somewhere proper, like you deserve.”

My fingers brush her throat. “I’ll buy a pretty dress, some jewelry to put here, around this pretty neck. Would you like that?”

Her eyes flutter open. “The best kind of flower has THC in it.”

A boisterous laugh rips out of me, I feel it from deep in my chest.

“I should’ve known, Red. You are such a sneaky little thing,” 

She snakes her arms around neck, pulls herself up and into my lap. “A proper place?“

I nod. 

“When?”

“When I get back.”

“Which is when?”

I chuckle and kiss her cheek. “I don’t know. I have to take a work trip and it could take a few days. Could take a week.”

“Did you ever tell me what you do for work?”

“You were never much interested in my life until recently,” I smirk, tapping her nose.

She pushes my hand with a huff. “Well I’m interested now.”

“I’m a coder. I’ve got to go out of town for a conference. You’d think working from home would get me out of work trips but,” I shrug. “Tech billionaires and their conferences, am I right?”

Red states at me deadpanned. “I have no fucking idea.” 

I chuckle, and poke her cheek. She shoos my hand away. 

“Since you’re gonna be gone for a while, you should talk to me more.”

“I want to but I have an early flight to catch—”

“Kyro,” she looks into my eyes, her arms closing around me tighter, as if to tell me to stay.

“Just for a bit,” I murmur, closing my eyes, my nose pressed against her shoulder.

We sit in silence for a minute.

“How was your day?” I ask.

She hugs me a little closer. “Good,” she says softly in my ear. “My day was good.”

My fingers trace the curve of her back idly. “How is work for you? What do you do now?”

“Medical transcription. I have an eye for detail,” 

I glance around the messy room. “Hm.”

She pulls back with a frown. “Are you doubting me?”

I shake my head. “Scouts honor!”

She raises her brow. “Were you in the scouts?”

I match her dubious expression. “Were you?”

“Touché.” Red leans back further, her hands still on my shoulders, her head falling back with it. My palms automatically hold her back, stabilize her, her throat exposed to me. 

“Then…let’s see. What’s important to know about you?” She ponders, as if she looks at the world upside down. “Oh!” She jolts up. “Music! What kind of music do you like?”

“Is that so important?” I quirk my brow. “That’s the first thing you want to know about me?”

“Music moves the soul. What kind of music you like tells me what kind of soul you are. What moves you.”

Hm. I never thought that much about it. But she is unique. It’s what I like about her. Plus, it’s something I don’t have to lie about.

“I mostly listen to classical while I work. Outside of that, I rarely listen to anything.”

Her eyes go wide. “Ah.”

I frown. “What does that tell you about me?”

Red looks away from a moment, contemplating whether to lie.

“Tell me truth. I’m interested.” I assure her.

“Classical while you work tells me you’re seeking peace in it. Trying to find meaning in the nonsense. Listening to nothing outside of it…tells me your soul is dormant.”

For someone so straightforward and no nonsense, the poetic, abstract way she talks about music is unexpected.

But charming. And she’s not much off the mark, either. She has a knack for that. Looking inside someone and pulling them—pulling the truth out.

That’s a dangerous skill to have around me.

“What about you? What music do you like?” 

“I listen to a little of everything. I don’t follow genres, I just listen to what speaks to me. What moves me in the moment—whatever that moment is. Whatever sound represents who I am at the time.”

I cock my head. “And…what does that say about you?”

She flies backward again, but I somehow expect it. She’s upside down again, but I will hold her up, and that’s enough.

“That I don’t know who I am? Or maybe I do. That my moods change, that I change for what’s necessary. Like a shapeshifter you know? Becoming what I have to, to survive.”

I know exactly what she means. I see it too. She went from callous, to open and playful as soon as I asked her to love me.

An instant switch. Her moods do change, like a dime, if you upset her.

“You think I’m right, don’t you?”

I shrug. “I’m no musicologist.”

Red giggles, a pure sound I’ve never heard. I record it my memory, but I don’t tuck it away. 

“Did you know that’s a real thing? It’s a scholar of music?”

“No fucking way I was being clever. I thought I made it up,” I snort, pulling her up, to face me.

Was she scared I wouldn’t look at her the same after she told me that? Is that why she hid her eyes?

But there’s nothing she can be that’s worse than I am. 

Red glances between my eyes, and leans in. Her lips brush against mine, just barely.

“When you’re in that…mood. That primal mood, you’re so disrespectful. Pulling me any which way. Being so rough and demanding.”

I hunger to kiss her, but I know…she says these words against my lips and she expects a response.

“Should I stop?”

Her lips turn up. Her smile kisses me gently. “No. Not at all. Sometimes you treat me like you own me. It feels so natural, I almost want to let you have me.”

“Then let me,” I press closer, wanting to kiss her feel her lips fully against mine.

She pushes my forehead back with a grin. “Easy there, big guy. It’s day two. No one’s owning anyone yet.”

I wish that were true.