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Rhea’s eyes meet mine as she licks over the processed paper, swipes her tongue on the underside of it and then once more to seal it over.
“Here,” her low, raspy voice broke me out of my trance as she presented me with the expertly rolled joint between her manicured fingertips. “She’s beautiful,” I said inwardly, holding it between my own two fingers and taking a lighter to the end of it, sparking it once, twice, before it finally catches. I take a drag.
“Let me,” she’s saying as I take my second hit, furrowing my brows.
“Don’t hog it, wait your turn like the rest of us,” I complain before handing it to her, anyway. “Shut up,” she snatches it and holds it up to my face to inspect. “It’s not gonna burn evenly. If you’re gonna light it, light it properly,” she sniped, and I repeated her sentence back to her in an obnoxious voice, mocking her childishly.
“I’m sorry I’m not weed patrol over here,” I mumbled under my breath and folded my arms. “Shut up,” she repeated, laughing this time.
Already feeling it start to hit me, I watched on in a daze as she held the lighter to the joint and rolled it in her fingers slowly, so it burned all the way around.
“I hope you’re not this mean when you’re high,” I said, trying to break up the silence that was feeling heavier by the second, much like my eyelids. I avoided her gaze, instead fixating on her soft plush lips as she took a hit, hissing at the burn in her lungs before expelling the smoke cooly into the air. “You like how mean I am.”
I ignored the need between my legs at how good she looked while smoking, how large her hands were, the vein working its way up her bicep, she was passing me the joint, she’s passing me the fucking joint, hello? Earth to me.
“Sorry,” I giggled, mellowed out. It was easy to act like the pot was the only thing affecting my judgment.
After a few short minutes, we were both adequately stoned. All senses heightened, everything feeling that much more real. And that was when she said it.
“You’re wasting so much of it,”
“Hm?” I asked after a few beats of silence. She gestures to the joint still burning idly in my hand.
I punched out a laugh. “Fucking weed patr-" and before I could finish my thought, she was grabbing my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. She gave me a gentle shove so I was reclining on my elbows, and delicately took the joint from my hand that still had in a vice grip. Almost in slow motion. Almost to emphasize her strength over mine. I was mesmerized.
She held eye contact as she took a hit and blew it out into the air, puffing on it a couple of times, before taking a long, deep lungful. Her blood red acrylic nails made her long fingers look so elegant holding the joint, somehow making it look like a cigarette being held by an Old Hollywood star. I fleetingly wondered how she managed to make everything look so good, how badly I wanted her to put those fingers to better use.
She snapped me out of my thoughts, cupping my jaw roughly in her palm to make me look up at her. She towered over me and sat her black skinny jean clad thighs on my lap. My hands hovered with uncertainty and she pulled them to rest on top of her ass, as if to say, shut the fuck up and go with what feels good, so I did, not giving it a second thought. I grabbed her ass in my hands, giving it a light smack. Her mouth dropped open in a silent moan.
I could smell her cologne when she brushed her cheek up against mine and it made me squeeze my thighs together. She smiled and bit her bottom lip to stifle it.
She took another pull of the joint and then she was biting my lip, hard, and I immediately whined. I let my mouth fall slack and she took the opportunity to blow the hot smoke into my mouth, lapping up the blood droplets that had formed on my lip in the meantime. I relaxed into the warm, buzzy feeling once again filling my lungs and body, starting from the crown of my head and traveling down.
She was taking the final hits from the butt of the joint, clouds swimming around both of us now. She ran her free hand up my body, feeling me up lazily before stopping at my neck. She ran a finger over my bottom lip, prodding the inside of my mouth to smear my own spit over it like lip gloss. I took the hint and opened up, and she cradled the back of my head carefully, letting the white tendrils of smoke fill my mouth.
“Hold it,” she whispered hotly against the shell of my ear, casually grabbing hold of my throat and squeezing it. The corners of my vision went white and I let out a noise high in my throat. I had to fight not only the urge to cough and choke, but to beg her to take me apart right then and there.
Her fierce black lips curled into a smirk. “You can let go,” she said prettily and she finally released her grip from my neck. I exhaled. She relished in the feeling of power she had over me.
“So good for me,” she said as she stroked my temple, a little breathless like she was also affected, and it made some uncharted feeling bloom in my chest.