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His mouth was like heroin.
Sally could still remember the first time she shot up, that feeling of fiery liquid wonder flooded her veins and took her into somewhere she could never come back from. The sensory overload would haunt her to her grave and beyond, and she would live forever seeking that same high, only to be consistently dissatisfied and empty. There would be no escape from her addiction.
Until him.
His hands were soft, a cop’s hands, smooth on her skin when they ran down her thighs and gripped tight enough to bruise, his fingers digging deep into her flesh with an insatiable desire that she herself hadn’t felt in decades, perhaps centuries now.
Sally thought that she could probably lose herself in his eyes, drown in that fathomless blue, wallow in his pain and suffering and lust and rage until the end of days and be perfectly content as long as he never blinked. Her lips curled into a shadow of a snarl when his eyes rolled back in his head, his lips parting with a moan that resonated around the otherwise empty hotel room. How dare he, when she was so enjoying his stare.
“Look at me,” she breathed, thrusting her hips forward with such force that he gasped, eyes flying open. “Look at me when I’m fucking you, Detective.”
She used the title like a curse, an accusation. He could have helped her in her darkest hours, him and all the other cops like him. They could have dragged her from her self made den of degradation and shown her the light, but no. Junkies only hurt themselves, so what did it matter? She was just another in a sea of faces, sunken eyes and jutting cheekbones, arms marked with their chosen addiction. Their own death, written in an endless mass of holes in their scarred skin. The broken flesh, they were.
Would he make her better? Did she really care anymore?
The blue eyes glowed dark with his need, pupils blown out so much she almost thought he was as high as she was. Gripping her tighter, he bucked his hips up into her almost obediently; fucking her as though he wanted to tear her apart, as though he was truly hooked on her. This was his first hit, but certainly not his last, Sally thought with another snarling grin. He’d have his own bloody teeth to flash at her in the end, she knew.
“God...fucking...yes!” The detective’s eyes were closed now, enjoying the sensation of her warm cunt around him, the muscles squeezing him with every movement, drawing him deeper and closer to an explosion that seemed within reach, and yet so far. It had been so long, and the intensity this promised to be something utterly unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.
It was like madness, true insanity. He saw it whenever he looked into Sally’s eyes; through the tears and the makeup did he see the truth of her. The junkie, the woman beneath, the agony of her very existence, and the rage at the world who had abandoned her to her fatal habit. He saw it, he loved it, and the sickest part of him reveled in her suffering.
Oh, to not be alone in his sorrow. It was almost too good.
Sally raked her nails down the detective’s chest, leaning forward enough to sink her teeth into his clavicle, working herself over him with delectable rhythm, working towards that burning heat that was building between her legs, a delicious tightening that she hadn’t felt in so long, so fucking long.
She felt more than saw John’s hands move to grab her hips, rolling himself above her and thrusting hard into her with abandon, burying his face in the nape of her neck and kissing her there with such tenderness that she almost sobbed.
When he kissed her mouth, she wanted to die and die again in his embrace, forever tasting the salt of his sweat on his lips and the whiskey on his breath. This was how it should have ended for her, she decided, gasping when he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside. This is how she would have died given half a chance to choose. With a man like this, like her Detective, making her feel things she no longer believed she could.
It felt good. The word didn’t do this justice, but it was all her pleasure and drug addled brain could come up with on such short notice.
John kissed her like he was kissing the last woman he would ever kiss. Her lips were chapped, bruised by the force of his own mouth, but it didn’t matter. She was sweet and salty at the same time, a conflict of elements. How like Sally. She could never just be simple.
“You taste...good,” he murmured, slowing the pace of his moments just enough to brush his lips over hers, a tease of what was to come.
She smiled her smile at him, raising her legs around his waist and hooking her ankles at the small of his back. “Just good?”
“Do you have a better word?”
Sally laughed then, choking off into a groan when he jerked his hips against hers so hard she saw stars. He smiled down at her then. “No, I didn’t think you did.”
She bared her teeth at him. John snarled back. She slapped him; he grabbed her by the throat and slammed his hips against hers again, and again, and again. The white stars returned, the fire in her belly roared, and she heard a voice that was not her own howl with release, every muscle in her body pulling taut, her back arching all the way up in a perfect curve as waves of ecstasy rolled over her. God, this was better than any drug, and she’d had a her fucking share of those, by God.
She shook with the force of it, gasping for air she no longer needed to live, his name on the very tip of her tongue, never to pass her lips.
John watched her come down, the blue eyes she loved so much glowing with a pride so strong, it bordered on arrogance. Her skin was pebbled with goose-bumps, her face flushed, lips parted in a way that could only be described as sinful. He couldn’t help but think that this was the most alive he’d ever seen her look. Perhaps because he couldn’t ever remember seeing her pant before. He smiled a little at that, moving off to lie at her side, watching her return to planet Earth.
Sally closed her eyes, for a moment just luxuriating in the ache of her muscles, the throbbing of her cunt, and how gloriously alive she felt. Every cell that made her was pulsating with new life, an exuberance she’d never felt before, and was fast becoming hooked on. Anything that felt better than being alive was worth so very much, and could never be traded for human things.
She felt better than alive; she felt reborn.
He was hers now, whether he knew it or not. And when she rolled onto her side to look at him again, the eyes sucked her in as deeply now as they did before.
Infinite blue.
They would be together forever. And nothing he could say or do would change that. He was her little death, and she could happily die night after night, day after day in this endless Hell.
And he would too.