50
When his twitching and cursing are over and he’s gazing down at me with lowered lids, his chest heaving, he slides a hand down to my neck and squeezes. Gaze locked to mine, he exhales deeply, then whispers, “Perfect.” I’m unsurprised that his simple praise sends an involuntary shudder of pleasure though my body. It’s why I’ve been so resistant to this. Why I wanted our relationship to be purely business, an emotionless transaction we’d both emerge from unscathed. But now it’s too late. We touched the fire. There’s no going back from here. The tragedy of it all is that I already know this man will ruin me, but even that isn’t enough to make me want to save myself. Now, I just want to jump into the flames and burn. Nineteen I wake in an unfamiliar room with an unfamiliar soreness bet
- Writer
