The Truth According to Ember

by Danica Nava

“How hard would it have been to just listen to me?” We were sharing air and it was electric. Charged. As if a spark would be set off at any moment. He took a step closer to me. Our chests were now inches apart, and he whispered in my face, his breath smelling like the toothpaste he just used. “About as hard as it was for me to lay in that bed next to you, knowing you wore nothing under that robe.”

“I’ll take that bet—what are the stakes?” He leaned toward me. “Uh…twenty bucks?” I took a step back. “Ember…” his voice warned. His eyes pierced me, and I was starting to feel like goo inside. “What would you want?” My voice had a mind of its own; it dropped an octave to a husky whisper. “You in those strappy shoes from earlier.” Oh my. I let out a breath. I could do that. “No peace pipe and I wear the shoes.” “Only the shoes.”

“You gonna share this pussy with me?”

I was not Ember; I was a goddess, and this bed was my altar and Danuwoa my most devoted worshipper.