Violent Delights

Zuri.

I don't know how I got here, truly. One moment I was sitting beside my friend and the next she was pressing kisses to my throat, and I was laying across the couch. I'd never given thought to the precariously tempting position she and I had kept for years. Even after she presented, after I presented, our habits and dynamics never changed.

But somehow, tonight, everything is shifting. Nothing is going to be the same after this. That knowledge hangs around us heavily, a blanket of charged air.

"Fuck, you taste so good," Ara says. The words get sighed against my overly sensitive neck, like prayer, "like sex and everything I count as mine."

In our twenty-some year friendship, I've never heard Ara talk about me so possessively. It's thrilling. It makes a zing of arousal rip through me. Somehow it's headier than even her pheromones that are drowning me.

I'd like to say I know my body well. It's been mine for thirty years. I've explored myself. I know myself sexually and can listen to the signs my body gives.

But Ara is shattering everything I thought I knew.

We're barely touching. Her hands flutter over my waist, her body pressed to my side. It's no more scandalous than my first forays into physical intimacy. Yet my nipples and clit are throbbing, begging for attention. My face and neck feel flush, my pheromone glands are tingling incessantly like they had during my heats, when I allowed them to come naturally.

Turning toward Ara, I let my lips drag along her jaw, mapping it out. Her hero's jawline and strong nose highlight the unexpectedly delicate bone structure of Ara Jade. But it all combines into a beautiful package for an equally beautiful soul.

Truthfully, people have to be blind to not see that Ara's not merely pretty. For the record, I'm not. I've known for ages my best friend is gorgeous. She's not hyper-feminine like some Alphas can be. Nor is she one of those hyper-masculine Alphas who obsess with the visual of bodily strength.

Ara Jade has freckles. She sports a healthy glow on her cool fawn brown skin. Showcasing a body that is neither too soft nor too hard, nor overtly ambiguous. Her belly curves, waist dipping when looked at from the front. Her hips, though not strictly fashionable, lead to sturdy thighs and a distracting full rump. Distracting me in a fairly new fashion.

New, in that I'd only recently looked at her without a purely aesthetic filter to my gaze.

"Ara," I sigh, finding her lips with my own. Of the two of us–Ara is the extrovert. I've never been chatty, but there are words building up on my tongue right now. "What're you doin' to me?"

My thoughts are a riot of filth that would shock me if I weren't agonizing over how to tell her.

The ends of her locs are coming loose from her bun as we kiss, brushing over my face. The scent of her hair oils mixes into her personal aroma and I feel like my mind is trying to shut down and shift into overdrive simultaneously. I feel the need to categorize how she feels, every single detail that makes up Ara Jade Matthews. It's a mysterious drive to analyze just how soft her lips are, and how well her mouth fits when she slants it against mine.

Her lips taste of the wine we'd drank earlier. Coming long before we started the movie that is now well forgotten. It's sweet, contrasting nicely with the sharp musk of her scent. Slipping my tongue against her lips is done with little thought, but I revel in the way she groans when our tongues meet. It's inelegant, the way we kiss as we learn how to fit together.

Ara's fingers dig into my waist before sweeping up my sides. Her nails-meticulously kept- snag on the hem of my top. Those same nails rasp lightly over my skin before her palms settle on my abdomen. It's a barely there touch, like she can't decide if she should do it or not.