An Acquired Taste

Circumstances left me unable to tackle my usual creative pursuits, so I decided to try something else for a change. The writing muse and I haven't truly spoken in the longest time, but here it is:








An Acquired Taste
by Jamila R. Nedjadi

She opened her eyes and watched him sleep.

His hair fell like black feathers across his forehead, his eyelashes built like a dormant Venus flytrap. His breathing was slow and even. The eyelids were as water-still and empty of any dream.

She was in the middle of pouring the orange juice when she heard him stirring. "I'm in the kitchen," she called out. Licking the last of the pulpy flesh from the oranges, she crunched the bitter seeds between her teeth.

He sat down, elbows resting easily on the table. He was still naked, perfectly comfortable wearing nothing but skin. He stared at her over his folded hands, eyes blank and giving away nothing.

She slowly and deliberately set the glasses on the table before taking the seat across his. She smiled and asked, "Hungry again?"

He nodded sheepishly, the first twinge of emotion flickered over his dark eyes. She watched him hesitantly reach out for her hand. She let her fingers relax on his palm, watched him carefully bring her thumb to his lips.

She hissed as the pain took her, but kept her eyes open. His teeth easily tore through the skin, meeting little resistance from the bone. There was a short crunch, a few wet sounds. "Is this really all right?" he asked between eager bites, licking his lips before any precious blood would spill errantly.

She simply smiled at him, the pain hanging off her lips.

When he was done, she pulled back and cradled the stump to her chest. She let the blood seep through her dress, red flowers blossoming on her breast. "I can't believe you really are a virgin." She whispered, gasping appreciatively at the burning flesh that left supernovas exploding in her vision. The pain was violent but quiet, decidedly private but open to voyeuristic eyes. He was watching her, and she let the pain ripple through her body.

The regrowth process was just as painful, just as pleasurable. The bone was always the quickest, bursting forth like winter-bleached branches. They both watched as the flesh sluggishly followed suit, blood dying white to red. Sweating and panting by the time it was done, she smiled tiredly at his anxious face.

"Next, you'll be telling me you're really a minor," she teased, before reaching over the table to bring his face closer to her impatient teeth.



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Happy Valentine's Day, everyone ;)