A Drabble


“Bastard,” Emma mutters, closing Instagram and tossing her phone aside. The arrogant prick can’t help but show off, constantly posting professional-grade photos of himself doing fabulous things in fabulous places, certain she’ll be suitably impressed. Today he’s on top of some fucking mountain in Asia.

Groaning in frustration, she strokes the cat in her lap — his bloody cat — and reaches for the phone again, determined that this time she’ll finally hit ‘Unfollow’.

Instead, she finds herself scrolling again. Then she’s typing. “Looking good, babe. Sebastian and I miss you lots. #comehomesoon.”

The response is almost instant.

“Do I know you?”



A poem

Image credit: FreeImages.com

With a soft snap,
teeth pierce velvet skin
warm with colour.
Yellow flows into

orange melts into
red bleeds into
pink, sunset rich.
Succulent nectar

bursts past lips,
dribbles down chin,
rescued by fingertip.
Moist mouth lingers

on tip, slides
over stone sucked
noisily clean.
Nose fills with

scent, musky sweet,
summoning memory
of slow summer sex.



Lily A King

Creative writer since the age of 6; content writer in tech since 2006; successful freelancer since 2016. http://www.lily-a-king.com/