dish soap.

He cooked and I washed the dishes.
I was subtle and he was sexy.
I wasn’t done with him 
so he kissed me once
innocently.
I grabbed his neck and he bit my arm.
He slid up behind me and I bit his lips.
Then he bit mine…
so I bit his fuckin’ tongue.
This is about me right now.
I sucked those tiny droplets of blood
right into my mouth.
For control? Maybe.
Because right now,
I’m entitled to every single thing
pulsating and breathing in his body.
The sink was still running
and I was scrubbing this plate…
Pulling my hair, yanking my head back…
Look at me.
None of this was passionate,
but rather iniquitous,
nefarious,
and enticing…
Like two depraved animals,
he went deep in me,
thrusting my hips against the counter,
bruising me,
pouring himself in between my thighs…
and I was still scrubbing this plate…
and now this knife…
Look at me.
He jerked my head back harder
and forced his gaze onto me.
And I held it there…
studying the flicker of his eyes
when I tightened the pressure around him.
But I didn’t scare him.
Inside of me, he moved slower.
Our energy intensified,
losing my focus on that damn knife.
Stroking around the tip of him,
I moved in circles,
and that damn knife pierced my finger.
What if I sliced my finger again?
Is that inhuman?
Am I barbaric?
To endure that pain while he was penetrating me,
Spreading that gash further apart,
the same exact way he tore me open.
The blade penetrated my nerves,
and like a wounded animal,
I licked the tip to taste myself,
of my finger first and then of me on him.
It was unbearable but I craved this indulgence,
like blood was this luxury,
and in this moment I could afford every drop of it.
My thoughts becoming twisted and sinister,
but the water splashing in the sink,
and me latching around the faucet,
and my moaning coming to it’s climax,
he let my hair go,
& I dropped the knife…
Now where the hell is the dish soap?