Necessary at the same time.
I need—I need to do something bad.
Something wrong.
Something that finally makes me feel free of the shackles of my old life.
With someone who can show me how to live.
“If anyone asks, this didn’t happen,” I say.
“We’re not actually here.”
“I’m stopping right now.”
I’m not stopping.
She’s not stopping.
She doesn’t push me away.
That leg looping around my hips is definitely not her pushing me away.
Nor is the way she’s sucking on my tongue.
Fuck me sideways, is this what euphoria feels like?
No.
No, simply kissing her isn’t euphoria.
Sliding my hand under her shirt and following her hot, silky skin from her waist to her bra is euphoria.
Is a woman’s skin supposed to feel this good beneath my fingers?
Or is this still the pecan pie and the grits and the aftereffects of anxiety?
“You should definitely practice taking my bra off,” she gasps against my mouth while her hands stroke my neck and over my shoulders and down my back to my ass.
“Good skill.”
“You have a lot to learn.”
“Terrible teacher.”
“Best teacher.”
“Bossy. No real instructions.”
“Practice—best way.”
I would like to continue playing at practicing whatever this is that we’re doing—the kissing and the stroking and the teasing and the lying to each other—for an eternity.
Clearly I need practice atsomething, given the way I’m fumbling through trying to get Daphne’s bra unhooked.
“Try harder.” She slaps me lightly on the ass, making my cock throb in new and unexpected ways.
But she’s not being an asshole.
