“O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?”
Mallory points at the lyrics on the screen. “See?”
Jake stands behind her at their bedroom desk, his hands on her bare shoulders.
“It’s a question,” she says. “Does the flag still wave? Right there: question mark!”
“It goes to show you that these dumb motherfuckers in this country don’t even understand what the hell they’re singing. It’s the first verse of four. This verse merely poses the question.”
“Nobody cares, baby.” He kisses the top of her head.
“That’s exactly the problem. The greedy fucks were happy to be apathetic as long as nobody with dark skin or breasts was in charge—”
“Come lie down.”
“I can’t. I can’t relax until this fucking election is over.” She rises letting the towel drop from her waist. Reaches for her yoga pants. “I’m going for a run.”
“Not yet.” He skims his hand down her back and palms her bottom, his wrist hugging her hip the way she likes. Jake is nearly a foot taller than Mallory. From the first moment he pulled her close years ago, he has been her shelter. “Let’s play,” he murmurs at her earlobe.
“How can you think of sex after seeing those polls?”
“I’ve got a poll right here.” His eyes smile as he nudges his half-hard cock toward her thigh.
She laughs in spite of her angst.
“Honey,” he says. “It’s going to be okay.”
He holds her face with both hands. “Nothing’s going to change who we are.”
“Those people are dangerous.”
“You’re safe,” he says. His hands lower to her clavicle. His fingertips brush the gully of her skin and bones there.
“No one’s going to be safe if that man wins.”
She wants to hush. She wants to diminish to pooled sensation, to surrender to the nerve endings waking everywhere his fingers trace: down around her convex places, her pink places, her soft, softest hidden places. From nipples to sternum, along each rib-groove-rib, back to every ridge of her spine, and down and down and down.
“Mallory, we’re family.”
“It’s not a question.”
Photo: Public Domain | Used under CC0 1.0
This post was written for Wicked Wednesday, a site where writers share erotic stories (fiction and non) every week. The fun is hosted by the energetic Marie Rebelle of Rebel’s Notes, whose endeavors you can support at Patreon.
Read all the fabulous Wicked Wednesday “Anthem” entries here!