“Yes. Don’t you? I mean, despite what happened, don’t you miss me a little, A?”
Her eyes drop to my lips and it doesn’t come as a surprise.
I know she wants me.
She’s wanted me back ever since I found out about her. And I have to admit that there’s a certain satisfaction in denying her.
In making her squirm.
That’s her classic move by the way, when she wants me to kiss her. Whispered words and sneaky glances to the lips. A subtle game of femininity that I’ve always found very hot.
What can I say? I like sex.
It’s always been a natural relaxant. Something to take the edge off. Besides smoking, I mean.
And sex between us has always been pretty fucking hot. She’s small in all the ways I like and I’m big in all the ways that makes things tight and interesting.
“You want to be kissed,” I conclude in a low whisper that I know gets her going.
She glances at my lips again, her hand on my body growing urgent, grasping. “I don’t know. I just… I want you.”
Which means, yes, she wants to be kissed.
This is her way of appearing as feminine as possible.
Again, I’m not going to deny that it gets me hot; I like to dominate, and she doesn’t mind.
She takes it all.
And for a second there it almost does get me going.
Until I realize that’s all she ever does.
She takes it but she doesn’t give it back.
She doesn’t writhe under me, trying to fuck me back. She doesn’t fist my hair and pull at it. She doesn’t scratch me with her nails, goad me by breaking my rules.
She doesn’t wear tiny little skirts or leave me sexy fucking notes.
She doesn’t fan my aggression and provoke me into fucking her harder.
Into reining her in.
I look at Sarah, the perfect good girl, the girl I’ve been with for the last eight years, and I realize that… she’s a little too perfect. A little too boring.
Kissing her feels boring too.
The same song and dance that we’ve been doing for eight long years.
“What do you think your new boyfriend would say to you kissing your old boyfriend? Or maybe you’ve done it so many times now to yourold boyfriend– you know, going behind his back and all that – that you can’t tell the difference between right or wrong anymore.”
Sarah draws back as if I’ve slapped her.
Whatever.
I step away from her, ready to leave and get the fuck out of this party, but again, she stops me. This time with her words.
“This is not about Ben.”
