"Red Letter Day" by Tracy Fells

She makes a decision. Time to lose it. The day is perfect and he is definitely the one, thinks Amelia. 
The rose petals, from his parched bouquet, leach red into the sheet sticking to her skin. Amelia lies back against the cool cotton, splaying hands like white spindles. A breath slips out; unclenching buttocks she parts her knees for him. His fingers trace invisible lines, guiding lips down her body. Ruffling his tight mocha curls Amelia is aware how the kisses trickle lower then gasps as his tongue flicks into place.
Shoulders tensing he pulls back with a prize between his teeth. The stalk dangles from pinched-pink lips, the lush fruit glossy as if varnished with morning dew. A lazy smile watches her as the plump cherry flesh disappears into his mouth on a lizard tongue. Crimson juice splatters his chin like pinpricks of blood. Dipping his head again he sucks on her goodwill. Amelia’s nails dig into the mattress. With a sudden cry, like the shriek of a midnight fox, he sits back on skinny ankles that make her think of chicken sinews hanging off the bone.
He’s biting down on a crimson letter. Plucking free the velvet soft, pulsating character - classic Times New Roman in shape and form – he twists it this way and that between his fingers, as if uncertain which way up it goes. Amelia snatches back her letter. The creases of disappointment nag and tug at his edges, shrinking expectation back to baseline. 
Smacking her knees together Amelia hears the sharp scold in her voice, but doesn’t care. He wasn’t the one after all. 
‘That belongs to me,’ she tells him. ‘I’ve changed my mind. This is not the day I thought it was.’


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