Trestle

Chapter 14 - The Strongest Little Azalea Flower

Chapter 14
Monday 12th August, 2024
The Ditch, Crockenhill, London

Angel flinches, tangled unconsciously in his bedsheets, and watches himself seated on a barstool downstairs. He's slicing orange segments to accompany a bottle of Patrón - he never did like limes.

The Ditch is dimly lit, but even in such darkness, there is no hiding the obvious emptiness in his eyes.
He pours tequila into a short glass, at least six centimetres deep, and inhales the fragrance with eyes closed; even in dreams, Angel is enslaved to a life lead by liquor.
But instead of the bitter tang of agave, he smells something sweet and fruity and milky and musky.

Caressing his stubbled cheek with the back of a single finger, she stands before him – her touch is gentle and warm and he takes her hand, and kisses her palm.
She's wearing the infamous white t-shirt dress, and her right sleeve hangs gently from her shoulder, exposing a sharp collar bone and the curvature of her breast.
Parts of Angel melt, while another part of him stiffens.

Maura smiles softly, innocently, and gracefully lifts herself onto the bar top. Angel watches in awe, transcended, as she takes an orange segment and props a foot on either armrest of his gaslift barstool. Her limbs are spread, exposing the white lace between her legs, and she glides the pulp along her left leg, past her knee and slowly up her inner thigh, leaving a trail of orange juice on her skin.
Angel holds his breath, aching in his seat, throbbing unbearably as she leans back onto her elbows and arches her back suggestively. He swallows the tequila in a single mouthful and leans forward, ready to thoroughly embrace the chaser.

His tongue moves slowly up her flesh savouring her taste and her warmth. She groans slowly and it takes every ounce of his self-control not to tear the delicates from under her dress and thrust his length between her legs – but he knows she deserves much more than that.
He feels her tremble as he drags his tongue lightly up her thigh and breathes against the soft skin between the crease of her pelvic joint and her underwear, and he gently runs a finger behind the lining.
She's already wet and tender and pulsing at his touch as he peels the fabric aside and takes her in his mouth.

One hand massages the back of his head, pressing him deeper into her. His tongue laps sensually between her folds and she gasps as he moans against her – she is a drug, a class of her own never seen in this town before, and he is completely addicted.
He nibbles at her skin, working two fingers inside her; slowly at first like he might break her. He strokes the shape of her, admiring the feel of her internals with his hands, aswell as her externals with his eyes, his nose and more importantly, his tongue. Growing harder with every touch, he gains gradual speed until he feels her begin to swell. She tightens with each heavy breath as he overthrows her stubbornness, and she contracts into his mouth with a cry of defeat.

Angel kisses her limp, quivering body for a moment, relishing in his victory. Maura takes his face and kisses his mouth. Still hungry for him, she peels herself from the bar and reaches for the buckle on his belt, breathing hot breaths against the lobe of his ear. He feels her desperation grow as she tugs at the button on his jeans and yanks at the zip, her lips tracing his mouth, down to his chin, down to his neck. He aches, begging to feel her mouth all over his body - until her sensual nibble feels more like a venomous snake bite, clamping down on his windpipe.

Angel bolts upright in his bed holding his throat. Blood seeps between his fingers and down his wrist, and it isn't until he's reached the bathroom mirror that he sees the Steri-Strips hanging loosely off his skin and the gash in his neck gape open.
Angel: Fuck.