K I L L I A N
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I was no saint. I was no monk. Holding her this close to me was dangerous as fire, but I lingered closer. Now, I was burning with the urge to finish our morning counter, to bury myself balls deep inside of her. She was this close, her fabric thin, and her dress always accessible for a quick screw in the leather seats. The car rolled over a bump, and I could only imagine thrusting against her.
I was going to die from the lack of contact with her. I grip my knee and force myself to look out the window, to focus on anything, but her. It was impossible. Through the car’s reflection, I saw her. She stared afar, her emerald eyes focused on anything, but me. Her hair flickered down her shoulders, smooth and silky. I long to wrap it around my hand and tug it like a pretty leas
