His perfection made me ache.
“Keep smoking that cigarette,” I instructed. “It will relax you.”
Contrary to my expectations, he did as he was told, and lit the cigarette again between his kiss-bruised lips. The match lit him up in dizzying color, no doubt enhanced by my own consumption of the herb, and then he was pushing me backward, the cigarette in one hand and the other on my chest.
We kissed languidly as we made our way to the bedroom, and I shed my dressing gown as we did, pulling him backwards and across the threshold. Jon didn’t second guess himself, his eyes staying locked on mine, leaving his trousers on the sitting room floor. It was darker here with the curtains drawn than it was in the sitting room, our only light that of the cigarette coal in Jon’s mouth; but I knew exactly
