I think?—
I think helikesme.
And he can’t.
Hecan’t.
But…maybe he does.
And maybe he doesn’t want to, but he can’t help himself.
Very relatable, that.
He pushes me backward, still sucking on my tongue, and my butt collides with the worktable.
Yes.
Yes.
Maybe we can not-date but kiss.
Maybe we can have sex.
Fuck.
We can fuck.
Right here. On the worktable.
Be friends with benefits.
Yes.
Yes.
That would work.
I can be suspicious of him but still arch my belly into his hard-on, and devour his mouth like we haven’t done this twice in the past five days already, and fantasize about licking every single one of his countless tattoos while he tells me where they all came from and how they fit together so perfectly on his body.
Explore the ink that disappears below his waistband.
I want to see his penis.
Is it tatted too?
My nipples tighten and my panties become wet.
I’ve never slept with a man with a tatted penis.
Devil’s work, I hear Grandma saying.
I tell her to shut the fuck up and worry about her own damn eternity.
Not mine.
I don’t want eternity.
I wantnow.
