Hector traps the cylinder between his
pout. Gently gripping the filter the way you would hold a lover’s earlobe
between your teeth, applying just enough pressure to communicate your desire.
The flame of the lighter teases the end of the cigarette to life, like the tip
of a quivering tongue, tracing the lines of a lover’s lips to stimulate a
hungry response. He inhales sharply, with a sexy little hiss. Smoke fills his
lungs, like tiny whimpers of pleasure echoing into the sensual cavern of his
wicked mouth. He arches his back slightly and tilts his head to one side,
exposing the muscular curve of his vulnerable throat; exhale...he smokes
slowly. Each time he tilts my head back to exhale, his mouth remains parted in
a small O shape, like he’s frozen in a moment of orgasmic passion.
My hands tighten to fists. I gnash my teeth and dig my nails into the
flesh of my palms. It’s all I can do to stop myself from pouncing on him… and
licking the residue of nicotine from his lips and fingertips.
Equal to the carcinogens slowly swirling through the room, my passing
days with him are both intoxicating and delightful. He becomes my habit.
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