*Micah*
As I stand in the old parlor, now receivingroom for the … clients of this establishment, a glass of vintage scotch, half finished nestlés in my hand, I am fighting my brain not to keep replacing the images of her with the bed in the background, imagining how easy it would have been to push her back without even touching her, and see her tumble onto it.
I repeatedly stop myself from envisioning how satisfying it could have been to start her lessons with one she was sure to never forget.
But I had kept myself in check, staying right outside, hovering like a ghost in the doorway. Truth is I was afraid that if I stepped inside I would give in to the temptation she is.
I am already betting against myself how many times my rule will come scarily close to being broken while she is he
