Deliberate.
Watching him watch me.
Oh.
Oh, he liked that.
I want to do it again.
Make him watch me lick things.
Make him think about my mouth on other things.
Make him lie awake tonight wondering if I taste as sweet as the strawberry.
But I can’t push too hard.
Not yet.
Sweet girls don’t devour men at farmer’s markets.
They wait until they’re home.
In bed.
Tied down.
“This should be illegal,” I say.
I imagine grabbing his wrist.
Dragging his fingers into my mouth.
Sucking chocolate off them slow enough he forgets his own name.
“I feel like I need to light a cigarette and call a therapist.”
He huffs a laugh through his nose. “You’re funny.”
You’re sweet. You’re beautiful. You’re mine.
Just say it already.
We pass a table loaded with pickles and garlic spread.
He takes one of the little bread rounds with a smear and chews thoughtfully.
I do the same, but only so I can watch his mouth.
His lips part just slightly.
Tongue darting out to catch a bit of oil.
I stare.
Can’t help it.
I wonder what sounds he makes when he eats something he really likes.
