summary: You recently move to a conservative Texas town, and find yourself drawn to the town’s resident good girl, Lorraine. A struggle between duty and desire, as a forbidden attraction ignites during Sunday church services.
word count: 1.2k
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The church was bathed in soft, golden light as the afternoon sun filtered through the stained glass windows. It cast colourful patterns across the worn pews and the bowed heads of the congregation. You fought to stifle your laughter as you noticed the rainbow pattern projected by the sunlight, dancing across the back of the town mayor.
Your mother gave you a subtle nudge, her way of telling you to keep quiet. Moving from Silicon Valley to a small conservative town in Texas was the very definition of a downgrade. Your father's work had forced the relocation, and at first you didn't mind it. But blending in with the locals and adopting their ways was definitely not part of the deal. Then again, when your dad's job— your family's livelihood, depends on pleasing the townsfolk, that's what you have to expect.
Churches weren't all so bad. You remember some in the Valley that were all inclusive and didn't care that you were gay, but something about the parking lot full of Fords and the old to young attendee ratio told you that this church was not one of them. You wondered why your parents would subject you to the torture of a homophobic church, but that was until you saw her.
And torture has never looked so good.
You sat in the back, as you always did, you weren't entirely sure if it was a choice on your end or if it was the church goers not approving your family yet. Either way you didn't mind.
Your arms casually draped over the wooden bench. Lorraine was in her usual spot near the front, her hands clasped neatly in her lap. She wore a modest white blouse and a pale blue skirt that ended just below her knees. Around her neck, a delicate silver cross hung, resting just above the modest neckline of her blouse.
Your eyes were drawn to her, as they had been every Sunday since you first walked into this church almost a month ago. She was the picture of piety, the good Christian girl everyone wanted her to be. Yet there was something in the way her gaze would flicker back to you, brief and hesitant, like she was afraid of being caught, that told you that she wasn't what this town wanted her to be.
You wondered how important it was to her that she sat in the pews at the front.
The preacher went on and on, his words never reaching you as your focus remained on Lorraine. Her eyes met yours again, and this time, she held it. There was a moment of something—a connection, an understanding that passed between you, electric and undeniable. She looked away as quickly as it happened, her cheeks flushing a soft pink.
You leaned back, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. She was trying so hard to maintain her composure, to be the perfect daughter of the church. But you knew better. You knew there was more to her than the prim and proper exterior she showed the world.
The service ended, and the congregation slowly rose to their feet. Your family remained seated as your father gave smiles to onlookers who wouldn't even spare him a glance.
Lorraine stood up, straightening her skirt with a her careful hands. You watched her, noting the slight shake in her fingers as she gathered her things and made her way towards the door. There was a tension in the air between you two, something unsaid, something waiting to be acknowledged. But you let it go, for now.
————
Two Weeks Later
The days had passed slowly, each one blending with the next as you replayed that moment over and over in your mind. You hadn't seen Lorraine since the previous Sunday. You avoided the places you knew she might be, not out of fear, but because you wanted to give her space. Whatever had happened between you two was intense, too intense for someone who lived in this town their entire life to process quickly.
But now, two weeks later, you were back in the same church, sitting in a different pew, few rows ahead. Not sure if it was due to an increase in your family's social acceptance in the town or your fondness towards a certain girl.
Your eyes inevitably are drawn to the front where Lorraine sat few rows back from her usual pew. Her posture perfect as always, but you noticed the slight stiffness in her shoulders, the way her hands gripped the edge of the pew just a little too tightly. The cross necklace on her neck missing, and you could feel the weight of it in your jacket pocket, heavier with each passing second.
It had been an impulsive move, taking it. You hadn't planned on it, but when she had stood so close to you, her breath warm against your cheek, her voice trembling as she whispered words she wasn't supposed to feel, you couldn't resist. You'd lifted it from her neck as you kissed her, like all the religious guilt she'd feel for what she's doing with you will vanish with the lack of necklace on her. A kiss that was meant to be quick but had turned into something more—a tangle of lips and emotions that neither of you fully understood.
The memory burned in your mind as you sat there, the necklace hidden away in your pocket, a secret you held close. You could still feel the softness of her lips, the way she had hesitated, then surrendered to you completely. It had been a moment of weakness, or perhaps a moment of truth. You weren't sure which.
You stood up slowly, the church now nearly empty, and made your way towards the door. Lorraine was still there, her body present by her mind far. When she noticed you, her breath caught, and she quickly looked away, her hand subconsciously moving to the spot where the necklace used to rest.
Or so you assumed it was subconscious. You considered approaching her, returning the necklace, maybe she wanted it back.
But then you thought better of it. Some things were better left unsaid. As you walked past her, you allowed your fingers to brush lightly against hers, a brief deliberate touch that made her stiffen.
You kept walking, out into the cool afternoon air, the necklace still in your pocket. You didn't look back, but you could feel her eyes on you, watching, wondering. Maybe she would ask for it back. Maybe she wouldn't. Either way, the connection between you, created in that brief moment of stolen intimacy, was something neither of you could deny.
Your parents were talking to you, but you weren't paying attention. Your thoughts were consumed by that necklace, by what it represented, by what it meant that she hadn't asked for it back. Was she waiting for you to make the first move? Or was she hoping to forget that moment altogether?
But maybe, just maybe, some questions didn't need answers. Maybe some moments were meant to linger, unresolved, leaving a mark that neither time nor distance could erase.
Some things were better left unsaid, but that didn't make them any less real. And as you walked away, the cool metal of the cross pressing against your palm, you couldn't help but wonder if Lorraine was thinking about that night too—if she was missing her necklace, or if she was missing something more.
pairing: cairo sweet | reader
summary: even the most honest, kind-hearted can be corrupted by evil — especially if it has brown eyes, freckles and a breathtaking smile.
word count: 1180
warnings: mdni, +18 only! implied sex, very brief smut at the end, blasphemy (?), nonlinear narrative. every line in italic is a quote by frederick nietzsche.
this one is for you, @wesstars | masterlist
As Nietzsche once said: “if you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.”
That's how it felt to stare into your eyes for Cairo — she could see all your demons, fighting the urge to escape from the depths of your mind and release their chaos into the unknown world. It was fascinating, daring even, to unveil each creature that gazed back at her when your eyes met for a hot second in the middle of the crowded classroom. And when you quoted the first sentence of said quote, with dark eyes craved on hers, a grin drew on her lips.
“He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.” Your voice was low, matching the sound of your high heels stomping on the wooden tiles, following a pace that, somehow, was synchronized with the beat of your heart.
Everything about you seemed well-placed, from the glasses that always slipped to the tip of your nose, forcing you to push the dark frame up every five minutes, to the white blouse that never carried a single wrinkle in the soft fabric; Cairo wanted to run her hands up and down your biceps when you brushed slightly against her as you returned to the front of the class. Even the chalk writing on the board behind you was perfect, rounded, and easy to understand.
Hell! It didn't even look like you had troubles in your life, almost as if you were friends with all the demons screaming inside your head.
There was only one that threatened to take over your muscles and move your body by itself, making you walk to the young writer that always sat at the first row, paying attention to every single movement of your body with curious eyes, staring at the window of your soul. The alluring brownish of her long hair created a delicate aura around her as the noon sun cracked through the big windows.
She was angelical, with freckles sprinkled all over her skin like the stars painted by Van Gogh, a dimple that came followed by an astounding smile. Yet, she was the devil. Forcing you to sin as you dropped to your knees to adore her; it was forceful, corrupt, making you ache as your mouth ran up and down her tasty body, thirsty, desperate.
Cairo Sweet felt like heaven, but had a soul that was grabbed from hell and thrown into the body of a girl that craved the world, to be known, to take everything she could from everyone she touched.
And you weren't different. At first, her greediness was subtle, well hidden under the facade of a lovely girl. You thought she was a “teacher's pet” — as your professor told you in one of his “preparation class” before you replaced him for the month as a graduation test, but the young writer was more than that, she was eager to please you, be it with her aggressive writing or with fingers deep inside you.
Sometimes it felt like she was the test, and you would only succeed if you survive the storm that was Cairo Sweet.
When you fell on her bed for the first time, it felt like Lucifer descending from heaven, and Cairo was your personal hell. She smoldered against your fingertips, with gray smoke leaving her mouth at every word of euphoria, sliding her tongue against your lips with a carnal desire that consumed her more and more at every sob that left your mouth.
The second time was excruciating. It melted your skin in a way that made you feel like it was written on your forehead all of your dirtiest sins, with the same perfection of your calligraphy and in every language so that all eyes on you were because of that.
Cairo was charming, with her knowledge and way with words, leaving you in awe every time she asked your opinion or answered one of your questions, effortlessly expressing her vision of the world — there's not a single poet, writer, or philosopher that's not been read by her brilliant mind.
Her favorite at the moment was Friedrich Nietzsche. For her, his view of the world was admiring, appalling. It's like he knew about the demons everyone constantly fought against, burying them deeper inside our core to prevent them from leashing them out in the open.
Little did you know, it was because of you. Because of the way your eyes lit up at the mention of his name.
While Cairo was a demon with an angel-like face, you were the opposite; with your dark clothes fitting perfectly on your curves and rough voice that always dropped one octave when you whispered her name like a prayer every morning for the past month. When you smiled, she could see the gentleness dripping like water from you, the patient you had with the students had her dumbstruck, looking at you with her chin resting on her hands, the cloth of her blouse itching her skin when you leaned forward to help a stupid classmate that only wanted to smell your perfume, leaning closer to your body as you calmly explained the most obvious subject, and that stupid smile on your face made it even harder for her to not clench her jaw over and over until you returned to your desk to finish today's reading.
When you fell the third time, it left a stain that wouldn't disappear from the cotton sheets — the white wings of a fallen angel, burned in black soot, fully corrupted and taken. This time it was brutal, lewd, and enticing with a small portion of a euphoric hunger. She savored you on her tongue with a devilishly smile tugging the corner of her lips, crawling up your body like the scarabs that loved Cairo, following her like a deity.
“Is man one of God’s blunders, or is God one of man’s blunders?” She asked, pressing her lips on your neck while her warm hands found your chest.
“I cannot believe in a God who wants to be praised all the time.” Your answer came in between a catch of breath, eyes closed and head thrown back against the soft pillow, nails digging deeper into her back, bruising the skin with long, red lines that stung.
“If I was a God, would you praise me?”
“I would adore you with every ruthlessly beautiful word known by mankind.”
With your hands firm on her waist, you pushed her to the side, fitting yourself in between her legs. Taking a deep breath turned your eyes darker than they already were; what a bewitching view it was to have you worshiping her, with lips glistening and a firm hand on her lower abdomen as you traced the stretch marks on her inner thighs with the tip of your tongue before running it up and down her slit, trying to keep her body from smearing the soot of your wings as a remain of the innocence the devil stole from you in the most graceful way possible.
Summary-Cairo is in a heated rivalry with Y/n.. or at least she thinks so
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Y/n POV
I have a love-hate relationship with school. I’m good at it but I hate having to spend my entire day at this place where I’m constantly being surrounded by imbeciles.
We are coming back from spring break and we have new classes to attend I have a new class called creative writing I’ve heard people talking about it I just was never interested in writing.
I have about 36 hours before school starts and I’m trying to figure out who’s gonna be in my class I can’t seem to find any of my friends on the list
I’ve been thinking about what new classes my friend CC had gotten, So I called her. It took me about two tries for her to pick up the phone
“Whaaatttt”
“Wooow CC didn’t know you were so bothered to hear from me”
“Yes I am so hurry up before my mom yells at me to take the dog out”
“Ok, ok I just wanted to know what new classes you got”
“Well my mom forced me to do a creative class so I chose either Piano or Creative writing, and I really wanted Piano but apparently not because I got creative writing”
“Phew”
“What are you ‘phew’ing about..?”
“I couldn’t find anyone with the same class as me and I was starting to get worried”
“Wow Y/n I was one of your last go-to’s that’s crazy”
“Shut up CC”
“Anyways I probably have- CC GET OUT HERE AND TAKE OUT THE DOG- ok I really have to go now bye-“
“Bye-“
Anddd, she hung up on me, as usual, but I can’t really blame her for having a mom like hers and I am so glad I finally found someone with the same class as me I was so scared I would have to do it alone.
But before I do anything else I should probably go out to eat before I starve to death, and there’s this new place I’ve been wanting to try for a while now and right now’s the perfect excuse.
I just had to find the place.. I knew it was some sort of bar/restaurant type thing I just couldn’t remember the name.
———————————————————————
I ended up finding a place which I’m sure is the right one but it doesn’t have any sort of sign or name on it.
It’s a little secluded which hopefully means it won’t be as packed, especially around this time of day. I decided to come here for a late lunch or some sort of early dinner.
Their menu was really appealing I had to hold myself back from getting everything but what was really appetizing was probably the good old (whatever food you want cuz I don’t know what to choose).
“Hello there may I take your order?” At least I know now that the people are nice here
“Oh uhm yeah sorry. I’d like the (food)” jeez I’m awkward
“Alright would that be all”
“Yeah thank you”
“No problem ma’am I’m just doing my job” of course like every waitress is supposed to
“Right.”
“I feel like I know you from somewhere” I hope not..
“Maybe..?” I have no idea..
“Holy shit you’re Y/n L/n right?” Surprise? I guess..? I don’t recognize her
“Uhhhh…. Yeah? Do I know you?”
“No but my friend knows of you and she hates your guts. She thinks of you as her school rival or something.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me right…?” There’s no way…
“No ma’am but I should probably get your order to the kitchen”
“Oh… yeah probably”
“Yeah talk to you later”
That was weird… I don’t know how her friend would know me though I would think I’m pretty quiet in school. I don’t even know who I was talking to.
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Here’s a start to the Cairo series I was talking about.
Sorry for taking an unexpected absence for a month there’s a lot going on with my life rn but I’m getting back into working on my fics.
pairing: cairo sweet | reader
summary: cairo's actions continue to frustrate you, but when unspoken words are finally said out loud, you understand her.
word count: 4619
warnings: mdni, +18 only! jumpscare: mr. miller, sexual tension, a bit of angst, jealous cairo, small reader x winnie situation, scisorring, face riding (reader receiving), language, smut in general, brief softness.
part 1 . part 2 | masterlist
Apparently, college parties were a bit different in Tennessee, which was a sweet surprise to you. Different from the ones you were used to back in your hometown, this one was hosted at the English professor’s house — you noticed as soon as you opened the front door, a picture of him with his wife near the entrance.
You raised your eyebrows when you bumped into your professor, an apologetic smile on his face.
“I didn't see you there, I'm sorry.” He touched your arm in a weak squeeze before placing his hand back in his pocket, the other holding a red mug.
“It's okay, Mr. Miller. I didn't know you would be here.”
“I always host this reading before the actual party. My wife and I will go on a weekend trip and Winnie asked if she could host a ‘small’ gathering; apparently, the house they usually go to for the party is unavailable. Beatrice left after noon. Smart decision of hers.” You laughed at his expression, knowing damn well it would be anything but small. You could tell by the faces around you that you never saw in any of his classes or readings before. They didn’t exactly fit the ‘tortured-poet’ profile “Are you joining us for the reading? It started a few minutes ago, I just came to the kitchen to get some more coffee. Cairo should start at any moment.”
At the mention of her name, you felt a bitter taste in your mouth and you took a deep breath.
A week had passed since the girl sat on your lap, kissed you, allowed you to touch her and then started acting as if nothing happened. During classes, you could feel her eyes on you, that uncomfortable feeling of being watched taking over your senses every five minutes, as if she was waiting for you to turn around and smile at her.
But you didn't. You avoided her like the plague. As soon as the class ended, you gathered your materials, plugged in your earphones and left without looking back.
Winnie complained a few times about your sudden avoidance of her and Cairo, asking non stop what had happened, if she did something that got you upset, but all you could do was apologize and say you had a lot on your mind with finals and assignments with a short deadline. It wasn't a full lie, but the girl could see the change in your expressions.
And now, all that hard work to avoid the brunette would go downhill as she was waiting a couple steps away from where you were standing, waiting for Mr. Miller's returnal so she could read what she had prepared for tonight.
“Cairo and I aren't in the best place right now, if I'm being honest. I didn't know she would be here.”
“Oh…” The man scratched his chin. “I didn't know that, I'm sorry. If there's anything I can do to help, don't hesitate in asking. I know Cairo, she can be… stubborn.”
You bit the inside of your cheeks at the statement. During your first days in Mr. Miller's class, Winnie kept you updated on the strange relationship Cairo had with your now professor; on how starstruck the young writer was at being close to someone she admires and looks up to. It was uncomfortable seeing how close he would be to her, making your stomach twist inside you with anxiety, yet there was nothing you could do as she seemed happy to be noticed by him.
When you asked about this whole situation to Cairo, trying to disguise your reactions, she told you: “he is someone I admire and I know he can help me with my writing. I look forward to our meetings as I have his attention all to myself.” You gave her a small smile that nearly made your eyes shake. Just like now.
You blinked a few times, pursing your lips together.
“We'll be fine.” You decided to answer, not truly believing in that. “But I appreciate the offering, Mr. Miller.”
“Anytime.”
“Does your wife know that soon her house will have drunk people stumbling against the walls?” You asked in an attempt to ease the sudden awkward silence.
“God, no.” He laughed.
“I’ll try to keep the glass decoration in one piece.” Once again his hand rested on your arm for a few seconds in a silent ‘thank you’ before he checked the silvery watch on his wrist.
“The reading is almost finished. Walk with me?”
Unable to deny the request, you simply nodded, walking in front of the professor as he motioned to you.
The second you arrived in the living room, your eyes landed on her like a magnet. It might be because she was standing in the improvised stage by the window, or because of the deadly stare she locked on you when you walked in with Mr. Miller by your side. If she had a laser in her eyes, you'd be a sieve by now with thick blood covering the dark wood floor.
A hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you to the corner. Winnie smiled at you, saying she saved you a seat by her side on the couch even though she wasn’t sure you'd be here for the reading. The childish side of yours screamed for you to answer her with: “if I knew she would be here, I wouldn't have come” in a very annoying voice, but you only smiled at her, squirming in the leather couch.
The room was in complete silence, waiting for the girl staring at you to start her reading. Cairo took a deep breath, licking her dry lips to start. The sun was starting to descend on the window behind her, transforming that whole scene into a beautiful portrait that your mind would keep for as long as you could remember.
“And as I witness her most intense intentions through dark eyes, with hands marking mine own peachy skin in a bruising grasp, I fall asunder above her. My body; weak, begging, pleading for her merciless touch as I watch her slam the door shut. The smell of something burning fills the walls, yet it's not the smoke that leaves my lungs, it's the fog that fills as I turn, fated to fall and fated to fail, and wish for her gaze, my resolute resistance scrawled in sand, tumbling through her open hands just as through the neck of our hourglass.
From the high, the grayness takes form; thick, lascivious, dangerous. The unsureness of faith buries words that one day I aim to say. Miserable thing, watching with tearful eyes as she leaves. The tree branches knock on the window, witnessing the whole pitiful scene engraved in my memory.”
You paid attention to every word she enunciated with a strong, determined voice, it felt like she was trying to open your skull and carve each one onto your brain matter. You felt dizzy at them, heart beating fast against your ribcage. While everyone applauded the young writer, you clenched your jaw, swallowing nothing that would help your sudden dry mouth.
Cairo smiled, the type of smile that would make anyone drop to their knees and pray for her. Winnie was excited by your side, the subtle scent of alcohol you smelled on her made you laugh. The girl was loud and, at the moment, when all eyes turned to you two, you regretted sitting by her side. From across the living room, your eyes met hers again, now sat beside Mr. Miller while he whispered something in her ear to which she smiled wide, turning to him.
As another student took over the stage, you couldn’t absorb any words that were said, disappearing into thin air. All you could focus on was Cairo’s hand occasionally touching his forearm when she leaned to say something in his ear, earning a quiet laugh from the professor, the urge to stand up and drag her away from that bothering situation, instead you walked to the kitchen in hopes to find a single drop of alcohol that would make that tension vanish from your body. Soon, Winnie joined you.
“This is so boring, my God!” She whined, sitting up on the kitchen island while eyeing you up and down in the bright light for the first time. “You’re overdressed as usual, I see.”
“Your underwear as usual, I see.” Winnie spread her legs as long as the short leather skirt allowed her to, giving you the high quality view of a lacy underwear as she takes the vodka bottle from your hands, taking a long sip, feeling the burning spreading over her chest with a satisfied hum.
“You like?”
You let out a huff, looking away. “You wish.”
“I will kiss you one day.” She said more to herself than to you, like a secret promise that escaped due to the lack of inhibition — not that she had any, even in her sober moments that word didn't exist in her vocabulary.
Shaking your head at her statement, you pulled the sleeves of your sweater, taking the half empty bottle from her hands and getting ready to prepare yourself a drink that didn’t taste like a slow death.
The reading kept on until the sun was completely set in the horizon, turning the living room into a dark scenario, lit only by the yellowish color from the table lamps. Slowly, the students started leaving while others arrived, walking in the house with bottles and bottles of alcohol, storing them in the kitchen’s fridge.
While you paid attention to the cup in your hands, wondering how long it would take for you to detach from the reality that was drowning you, you felt a bump on your shoulder.
“What is it?”
Winnie signalized with her head, making you look over your shoulder, witnessing Cairo and Mr. Miller talking near the stairwell that would lead to the second floor of the house.
“I think he wants to take her upstairs.”
“She can do whatever she wants, Winnie.” You mumbled, trying not to squeeze the cup in your hand when taking a sip. The bitterness making you frown. “Cairo is a big girl.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“What do you mean?” Turning back to her, your eyebrows sewn together in confusion.
“Because she won’t stop looking at us.” You shrugged, finishing your drink in one long sip. You felt your stomach complain at the big wave of alcohol.
“She can disappear with him for all I care.”
Winnie tilted her head, still looking at the two of them with narrowed eyes. “Oh, so I shouldn’t say they’re going upstairs and she seems pretty excited about it?”
“Yup, not a single thought about it is on my mind right now.” Grabbing the bottle again from her hands, less subtle and emptier than the first time, you poured yourself a very generous sip on your cup, drowsy smiling to Winnie when you handed over the, now completely empty, bottle.
As the minutes went by and the alcohol went in, your control over your senses were slowly losing its grip and you started to worry about Cairo against your will. Controlling the impulse to run upstairs as you weren’t drunk enough to blame on the booze, you shook your head, leaning your body against Winnie’s while the girl talked excitedly to a random boy from the football team, your mind too caught up analyzing the things the young writer said earlier to pay attention to any conversation around you.
The music wasn't loud enough as the professor still hadn't left, but you could feel every beat of it synchronized with the beat of your heart.
Your fingers found the skin of Winnie's thigh, starting to draw random lines out of boredom. Other than the girl, and Cairo, you weren't familiar with the faces that kept on surging from the front door every five minutes.
“If you keep doing that, I'll drag you upstairs too.” Black whispered, making you tilt your chin up at her.
“Maybe you should.”
Winnie was beautiful, you couldn't deny that. From the hazel eyes to the plump lips that looked so attractive at that moment, getting closer and closer, making a tingling feeling crawl over your legs like a spider. You wanted to kiss her, and you would have, if it weren't for the footsteps coming from behind you, making Black pull away. You knew it was Mr. Miller, the strong perfume making your nose burn.
The older man stood in front of you, looking at Winnie who was still seated on the marble island, an innocent glow in her eyes that almost made you laugh, but a hand wrapping around your wrist pulled you away from that situation. All you could hear as you were being dragged to the — now empty — living room was Mr. Miller asking the girl to behave and to not destroy his house or he would fail her. You laughed to yourself.
“Did you seriously allowed Mr. Miller to take me upstairs?” Cairo asked, pulling at the sleeves of your sweater like a spoiled kid when you refused to look at her, waving at the professor when he turned around to leave, leaving the house and a bunch of teenagers and new-adults unsupervised.
Your eyes were dark and your body a little soft when you stared at her, yet you still were in control of your actions, the drinks just diminished the worry of doing or saying something wrong. At that point, you didn't care about what left your mouth. You wanted to curse the young writer.
“He's our English teacher, not a serial killer.”
“He could've forced me to do something!”
“You seemed pretty excited to go with him. Now, excuse me, I'm gonna find Winnie so we can finish what we were about to start.” Before you could walk past a furious Cairo, her hand, once again, glued to your chest.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
"What the fuck is wrong with you? You blew me off, Cairo. What did you expect? That I would run after you and beg for your attention?"
"Yes!"
You let out a breathy sigh, the corner of your lips up in disbelief. "You really are so self-centered, you don't care about anyone other than yourself. You're a fucking bitch!"
"And you're dying to fuck this self-centered bitch."
"Not after Mr. Miller, thank you." You scolf sarcastically.
"He didn't fuck me, you idiot.” The hand in your chest grabbed the fabric of your sweater, pulling you down to her so she could whisper with lips nearly pressing on yours. “He wasn't you."
Her eyes softened as well as the fist that held you in place, moving it to the back of your head.
Staring at her eyes, you didn't know what to find. You didn't even know what you wanted to find. Maybe a sincere answer.
“Cairo…” You started, sighing against her lips, closing your eyes for a brief moment, trying to gather cohesive words to form a sentence. You blamed the alcohol for this pathetic lack of senses. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to care. I want you to show how desperate you are to have me, how you crave my body in your hands.” You swallowed hard, carefully listening to the whispery confession, the soft motion of her lips grabbing your attention. Once again, you wanted to steal that small freckle from her upper lip. “I want you to burn my skin with your fingers and bruise me with your mouth. And if you really wanted me to be yours, you would've turned around, thrown me on that fucking bed and taken me.” The strong pronunciation of that last part got your body heating up, the urge in your chest spreading in your veins and mixing with the existing alcohol.
“You’re not very clear in your intentions, Cairo. You’re good at saying everything and nothing.”
Taking your hand, the writer pressed it against her chest. She took a deep breath, goosebumps covering her body at the warm feeling of having your hand touching her again.
“Can you feel that?” You nodded, letting your forehead gently fall against hers. “Do you understand now or do I have to draw it for you?”
Suddenly, your brain became fogged and you were getting lost again. You saw dark brown eyes. You felt a strong bumping in your hands. You smelled woody cologne and cinnamon. Yet, you didn't know where to go.
“I want you to draw for me.” You said, desperately trying to find the right path.
Cairo nodded her head, pulling you with her once again, but this time, with her fingers intertwined on yours and more gentle than the first time. You trailed behind, careful to not trip on the stairs as she led the both of you somewhere you didn't know, the lights were off on the second floor, making impossible for you to see anything that wasn't right in front of you.
You heard the sound of a door opening and being locked once closed. The moonlight was invading the room through the open curtains. Blinking a few times to adjust the blurred vision, you felt your body being pushed against a soft mattress and a lightweight on top of you.
“I'll draw it for you.” Cairo whispered, pressing her lips on yours in a chaste kiss. “Do you have any idea of what you do to me?” She asked while kissing down your neck, your hands squeezing her waist over the cotton fabric. You shook your head, licking your dry lips, still tasting her lip balm on them. “Here, let me show it to you.”
Cairo sat on your hips, guiding one of your hands under the white dress, in between her legs. Flashbacks returned and your heart stopped beating for a second while she moved herself on your fingertips, eyes locked on yours, a smirk surging in the darkness. When you moaned at the warmth that embraced your fingers, she did the same.
You breathed out the air that was stuck in your lungs, affected by the scene that unwrapped in front of your eyes. It was a erotic, alluring view, slowly burning itself into your brain like a polaroid. A flash of smile drew on Cairo’s face, satisfied with the reactions coming from you, with the way your eyes stared at her with a dark, flame of desire, lips parted as you struggled to breath.
The cold touch of her rings sent shivers down your spine when her hand wrapped itself around your neck, pressing the sides of it, feeling the pulsating vein under her fingertips. A sob escaping her throat when your fingers easily slipped into her, burying themselves in the warmth of her velvety walls, clenching around you, while the heel of your hand pressed against her swollen clit.
A vile glow shining in the dark brown eyes when she leaned down, squeezing the sides of neck harder as she felt the knot inside her getting tighter. That feeling of desperation growing impatient in her chest.
“Have I lost myself, or have I gained you?” You asked in a soft voice, following a steady pace with your fingers as she moved herself on you. Even when you were the one carrying her in your hands, it was hers that controlled the air in your lungs.
You’ve always seen Cairo as a spoiled girl that grew up in a big house, having all her wishes wrapped in a pretty paper waiting for her on her bed when she came home from school. But now, as she falls apart in your hands, saying your name like a sacred mantra, you saw beyond words and actions, you saw the urge to be held and cared for, like a little girl that didn’t get a hug after they wake up.
Staring at her in awe, you felt tears coming to the brim of your eyes, the squeeze cutting every small space for the air to bring you life, but you didn't care, not when you saw the vision of what heaven must be like; the curly brown hair falling over her right shoulder, the soft strands tickling the skin of your neck as she fell over you, hiding on your chest.
Coming down from her high, Cairo carried a sly smile when she looked at you. Her kiss tasted like ashes, bitter, against your tongue.
“You taste sweet.” The writer whispered in between kisses, sucking your tongue into her mouth over and over, sighing in pleasure at the fingers that slid off of her. Carefully bringing your coated fingers to your mouth, you wrapped your lips around them, being watched with full blown eyes every movement of yours.
“And you taste divine.”
It only took a millisecond for her lips to meet yours once again, the softness of the act long forgotten as she bit your lower lip, tasting the iron in her tongue with a sadistic smile at the painful cry you let out, squeezing her ass in your hands; burning the peachy skin with your fingertips. The words of her writing echoing inside your brain, spreading it on your blood flow.
“I like this sweater, you look charming in dark blue.” Her hand found the collar of it, tip of her fingers tracing the skin underneath, making the fabric itch around your neck. “Take it off.” Despite the sweet tone in her voice, you obeyed the breathy order, pulling it over your head and tossing it somewhere in the unknown bedroom. Cairo stood up, removing the brown leather boots and her own dress, the white lacey set that remained on her body making you gulp.
The writer stood in between your legs, her hands on your hair while yours held her by her waist, goosebumps all over her body as you kissed the toned abs, softly biting the skin.
Cairo looked down at you with curious eyes, the tip of her tongue trapped between her teeth, admiring the small galaxies your mouth left all over her like she was an empty canvas that needed some color. And you were doing the perfect job, painting an universe on her skin as you knelt down, bringing her underwear along with it. The writer kicked the useless cloth, putting her leg over your shoulder and hooking it behind your head; you salivated at the view of her cunt glistening in front of you.
One of her hands caressed your face with gentleness, her thumb sliding over your bottom lip before she made you open your mouth, pushing her hips closer to your lips. She was dripping on your tongue, the taste of her filling your mouth as you hummed in pleasure, licking what escaped your agape mouth.
The big brown eyes stared at you in flames, burning your skin into a bright scarlet crimson. You nudge your nose closer to her, inhaling the intoxicating smell; everything about Cairo was sweet, from her last name, to her voice that could recite the most beautiful poem by core, to the honey flavor slick that dripped from her aching hole, running down her thighs at the view of you ready to worship her, and when your tongue slid in between her folds in a long, slow lick, her head fell back and a shiver went down her spine.
Pressing your tongue flat over her hardened nub, you closed your eyes, the grip on your hair pulling you impossibly closer. You circled her clit with the tip of your tongue, drawing random patterns with precision on the sensitive nerve, earning yourself a praise that came with a smile when she looked down on you.
Moving your hands up her thigh, you squeezed the muscle, making her ride on your tongue, aggressively and delicious. The sounds escaping your open mouth reverberated all over her sensitive flesh.
Cairo was an exhibitionist, she adored having eyes on her all the time, paying attention to every admirable detail that was attached to her. And having you on your knees praying against her cunt was filthy, enticing and agonizing, that heat wave scorching her insides and melting on your tongue, and you made sure to swallow it with a gratifying smile.
You could suffocate in between her legs and it would be a heavenly death.
Kissing your way up, you brought her body closer, circling her waist as she hooked both legs around you, sliding her tongue over your shiny lips before you dropped her on the bed. Cairo was about to complain at the lack of care, but she soon shut her mouth, watching you kick your converse to the side and unbuttoning the tailored pants that hugged your curves in the right places.
Taking a deep breath, you slid the fabric down, taking your underwear with you, the shyness taking over you once you were free from any cloth covering your body; all this being watched with lustful eyes.
The young writer’s eyes pierced your soul, engraving in her brain every mole you had around your shoulders, silently choosing her favorite one to add to the list of small details of your body she loved and kept fresh in her memories, always making sure to add ‘em in her writing. It amazes her how you never noticed the importance you had in her work, you were her muse.
“Come to me.”
She didn’t have to ask twice, at the sound of her sweet voice your feet led your body closer to hers, moving according to her words, your knees sinking in the mattress only to find balance on top of her. Her hands on your back brought you closer and you fell, once again, into that piquant feeling where it felt like you were about to drown, but her lips on your neck got you breathing in fervor.
It was easy for the brunette to take control, reversing positions and sitting atop your abdomen, gripping one of your legs and casting one of hers in between them, fitting herself against you.
“Fuck, Cairo.” You mewl, closing your eyes at the aggressive way she pressed herself down, easily gliding on you. One of your hands found her thigh, squeezing the flesh until it blemished under your fingertips, moving your hips according to the pace she set. It was cruel, desperate, the dark brown eyes fluttering closed.
The bed slammed against the wall, the old wood-frame fated to snap at any moment; you didn’t care, it was impossible to focus on anything that wasn’t the girl in between your legs, rubbing herself on you with an inner desire to split you in half. You dazed at her, the angelical aura surrounding her like an armor, preventing the sins from escaping the walls of the still unknown bedroom like the squelching noises were, the lewd sounds from the both of you echoing around the hallway for anyone that dared to come closer and press their ears against the locked door.
When the impetuous climax hit you like a jolt of electricity spreading in your veins, Cairo fell on top of you, exhaustion taking over her senses as well as the tired muscles complaining from all the spasms.
The writer looked at you, tearful eyes as you soothed her bare back with an equally pleasured expression. Your bodies were weak, relying on each other at such a delicate and overwhelming moment, marked in black and blue by your hands and mouth, a greedy memory that will last. And if it ever vanishes, like the galaxies made out of bruises, all you needed to do is knock on her window.
