It's much later now, night time. I hear crickets chirping outside and the simple sound is peaceful to me. Sometimes its best to just get lost in the moment and try to think nothing at all. I poked my inner dragon with a stick but it's still sleeping, thinking cold reptile thoughts.

Sometimes those are ok too...They are simple and heartless, predatory and selfish. They don't feel pain and they require no mercy given or received. They seek warmth and shelter, and absorb it from the sun, or their prey. He might not want her to touch him, because she is a taker, not a giver. She looks at him with flinty eyes. The flick of her tongue on his skin is only to sense him. To taste him. Deciding what she wants. She may coil herself around him, rubbing his skin with hers, but only because she likes it. It is warm. It feels good.

Her tongue at his throat tells her he tastes good. So she will keep tasting, using my kisses, and my hands. We twine around him, soaking in the heat of his skin, stroking him with our hands, arms and legs. We feel his heat rise, so we take it, soaking it into my skin as we slither and writhe against him. We linger at his lips with kisses to listen to his breath turn faster when our hands creep down his stomach, over his thighs and back up and inward, between his legs. We coil my hand around him there, cool dry hand squeezing, like a boa. She is hungry, and she feels his senses. If he fears her, she will know. She does not fear him, because he is prey.

She samples his ribs with my fingernails, like fine sharp teeth, etching thin red trails along his skin. We trace them with my lips, seeking the taste of life all hot in his flesh. My hand grips tighter at the hard place between his legs, the constrictor reacting to the subtle thrum of rising blood and sweet warm heat. The tongue flicks closer, searching his skin, tracking by instinct, across chest...down stomach...over the field of delicate skin, to nudge my hand to a softer grip so that questing tongue can flicker beyond it. Tongue and hand now turn their coils, alternately squeezing and rubbing, licking and flicking. She is hungry, and he tastes good.

She plays with him until he shakes and shivers against the smooth shifting touch of my arms and legs. We nip his hip as we coil ourselves back around to face him, then pause to stare down at him from above. We are warm now, hungry, and ready to strike. We strike quickly, dropping down onto him like a lightening strike, swallowing him whole. I hiss as I feel him, flesh to flesh, moving and grinding. She watches with her cold eyes, and feels nothing with her cold heart, but her heat is deep and fast and real as hunger as she devours him with my body. When she is finished, she coils back down into the dragon's sated slumber, my head resting on his chest. She likes it. It is warm, and he tastes good, for he is prey and she is satisfied.

©Sonja Torres 2006
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