Taken

Veronica Leal sits with the memory of betrayal like a blade pressed between her ribs. That Colombian beauty with fire-red hair and trembling thighs can't stop replaying the night her world cracked open. She hates that her pussy still aches for Zazie. She hates that she loves the little blonde bitch who looked her in the eye while her tongue was buried in Christina's cunt. The rage makes her wet. She can see it clear as daylight: Christina's mouth trailing spit down Zazie's inner thigh, Zazie gripping the sheets and whimpering the same way she used to for Veronica. Fingers that once belonged to her, now knuckle-deep in someone else's heat. Veronica locked Zazie away once. Walked out, slammed the wardrobe door, heard the cheap metal rattle while her ex scratched and begged. Ten minutes of power. Ten minutes of silence. Then she opened it, dragged the trembling girl out by the wrists, and told herself this was it—they'd try again. Start over. Clean slate. Forget the taste another woman left behind on her girlfriend's skin. But the image won't leave. It pulses between her legs like a second heartbeat. She pictures Zazie's blue eyes rolling back while Christina's mouth sucks bruises onto her tits. Revenge tastes metallic on the back of her tongue. She wants to take Zazie again, pin her facedown, make her choke on her name until the sound of anyone else disappears. She wants to kiss those traitorous lips raw and then push her away. Keep her. Ruin her. Try to love her through the wreckage. The wound won't close. It keeps leaking heat. She still loves her. She still wants to make her pay.