Why are you dim when your face is so fucking pretty? When your eyes are bright enough to light up my whole damn world. Why?
I worked in a grocery store my whole life, Honey-girl. I know what lonely housewives think of this.” “I meant the baby, Jerk.” “Attached to me.” “You think you’re cute, don’t you?” “Are you honestly asking me this? I know you’re not debating it.
I’m tickling a traced pattern over her bare hip. She’s pretending to sleep. Her smile is an idiot. A bad secret keeper.
We tangle and merge. Love and let go. No one will ever know her like I do. I’ve touched every inch of skin. I’ve explored every part of her being. I love her shy when I pull her to my hips, my lap. I love her present uncertainty for things she knows how to do so fucking good. I love her pink flushed skin all over.
For the love of mercy, I cannot walk into mediation with a swollen vagina, Cash. Please.” I smile against her thigh, rubbing my scratchy face against the softness of her skin. “Is that what I’m doing?” Innocence—fuck no. I can’t even fake that shit.
I think you better hurry along with that French toast making, Stud. You know—before my fetus eats your face.” “It would be equally as delicious.
My head is in a world of hurt. My apartment is trashed. At the end of today, I could either be dating the girl who saves my family’s future or is going to be the ending of it. When did life get so damn complicated?
I’d lick you numb, Mariah. You have no idea the things I’m capable of.
I want to have an affair.
An artist, if you’d really like to know who’s fucking your wife.
