Ceelin
"Ouch! It hurts," Phil complained when my hand holding a cotton accidentally pressed hard on his wound.
"I'm sorry," I apologized to him. I felt guilty because if I hadn't scratched him, he wouldn't have been wounded. But he couldn't blame me. I thought the man beside me in bed was the guy from the bar.
Phil held the hand I was using to hold the cotton and pulled me closer to him. I almost fell onto his chest if I hadn't braced myself with my other hand on his chest.
"Sorry is not enough, Ceelin. I want you to compensate me," he said while staring intently at my face.
"Maybe you want me to add another scratch to your neck," I jokingly threatened him.
"It's alright. Even if you scratch my body several times, it's fine with me. But I want you to moan as well when you scratch me,
