If there was one thing about rue, it's that her world was very, very, very...purple.
when she was high, everything was that powerful shade of amethyst. when she was sober, the grape-flavored sugar inch her just a little closer to that short-lit buzz. It wasn't coke, but it was definitely a sugar.
she wasn't the one for pink. that was cassie's thing. and Rue? well, Rue's not cassie, if you couldn't tell already.
but you know what she really, really loved, that just-so-happened to be pink?
the beautiful, flesh-colored flower that lay nestled between your thighs.
the pink, puffy lips she’d bury her tongue between when candy wasn’t enough. the wet muscle that would lick and slurp at your clit like the leftover carbonated soda at the bottom of an aluminum can.
her lips would still be sticky; too drained to properly lick up the high-fructose residue before settling on something better. sugar wasn’t enough…it wasn’t pure like her name spilling from your lips as quietly as it could.
no additives, no gluten, no chemicals, no risk…just pussy and lust that sent Rue’s hormones into overdrive.
saliva dripped down her chin, creating a sticky, sloppy mess between your thighs that dribbled onto the sheets. and when her mouth wasn’t busy, her hands were.
long and limber fingers plunging in and out of your greedy pussy while she laid feather-light kisses to your aching clit. the room would fill with wet, pornographic sonic waves; Rue’s relentless slurping, your gutty moans, the creaking of Rue’s aged bedframe.
but if you’re lucky…you’ll hear it. the unusually stable tone of your lover making a confession.
“you taste just like grapes, baby… ’s my fuckin’ favorite.”
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