Short Fiction,  Smut Marathon 2018

The Epiphany

The night air was cool as she pulled him by the hand from the throbbing nightclub and into the dim alley, her back immediately against the wall, 

his hand under her skirt, sinking into her silky wetness. It was always this way with them; too much whisky, never enough time. She pushed him to his knees and he looked up and saw her, silhouetted beneath the starry midnight sky, hands twisting in his hair, pulling his face to her succulent cunt. She was the Milky Way, he a speck of sand in awe of her. He realized in that moment that he didn’t just want this disposable lust. He wanted so much more.

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