As the weeks progressed, Michael had stopped any sort of banter we had before he entered my room and made it clear that he wants to f**k me but only when I'm ready.
He doesn't touch me in places I used to feel when my heart would rush. He's more courteous, careful, even professional than before.
I hate it.
I didn't realize you can miss a touch from a man you barely did anything with. At times, I've dreamt of Milan doing things to me, and now it's switched to Michael.
Then I imagine what the two together can create with me. What type of messes we can get each other into. At times, my mind would drift off to these wild imaginations of mine. But then I'm brought forth to reality when Michael chastises me for slipping up on my physical exercises.
"You need to pay attention Omi," he exclai
