Prey

“Take a breath…” she whispered to herself, trying to slow her heart rate before she entered the bar.

The lights were low. She struggled to adjust her sight, but after a few minutes she spied him chatting to the bartender, nursing a scotch. She took a stool two spaces down from him and ordered, “I’ll have what he’s having,” nodding towards her prey.

He glanced over at her, “You have good taste. It’s on me,” then to the bar man, “I’ll have another too.”

“Thank you, that’s very generous. I’m Jules,” she extended her hand and smiled at him.

“Mac.” His hand swallowed hers in a tight grip, “Are you waiting on someone?”

“Nope, all on my lonesome tonight I’m afraid.”

“You needn’t be. I’m not going anywhere.”

She felt her heart race as she slid over onto the stool next to him. She was in…

*

She giggled as she unlocked her front door. They spilled in drunkenly; he stumbled and tripped, landing hard on her tiled hallway.

“Fuck, I must have had more than I realised,” he sighed as she helped him to his feet.

“Come on, you need to lie down,” she pulled him upstairs and into her bedroom.

He leered at her, “You taking me to bed then are you?” and reached for her. She deftly sidestepped him and pushed him down on the bed.

“Come on, you know you want to,” he groaned, hands in the air trying to grab her again.

“Steady, boy!”

“I’m not a b…” his world faded to grey.

*

She waited.

After undressing him and tightly securing his wrists and ankles to the bed frame with rope, she made coffee as he snored and revised her plan. She had been careful to make him think she was matching him drink for drink, adding an extra shot of scotch from her bag to his glass whenever he went to the gents. Now she was ready for the next stage.

“What the…!” he gasped as the ice cold water hit his face, rudely pulling him back to consciousness.

He tried to sit up.

“What the fuck?” his eyes widened as it dawned on him that he was completely restrained, “What’s happening?”

A slow smile spread across her face, “We are going to play a game… I’m in charge.”

She bent over and picked up the knife from the under the bed, relishing the flash of fear in his eyes.

“Untie me. Now!” he strained against the black rope that bound him.

“Oh I don’t think that’s going to happen, Mac…” she trailed the tip of the blade up along his calf, continuing to his inner thigh and pausing just before it touched his balls, “Just think of all the things I could do to you now,” she whispered, pressing the tip into his skin.

“Jesus! Are you fucking mad?” he gasped, trying but failing to twist his body away.

“Do you think it’s wise to be so rude to me right now?” she swiftly flicked the knife up and pressed it against his throat, “Well?”

She watched his Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard. She saw beads of sweat break out on his forehead and smiled, “You really don’t remember me do you?”

He frowned, a confused expression washed over his face. She felt the rage building inside her.

“Did you honestly think a fit young woman like me would pick up an old man like you in a bar? Really? Can you be that egotistic?” her voice trembled as she struggled to control her anger, “Look at yourself! How old are you now? 60?” She pointed the blade at his crotch, “I see that you dye your hair these days, but not down here… Aw, look at how tiny your pathetic cock is?”

Once again she pressed the knife onto his skin, buried the tip in his grey bush. He whimpered, “Please, I don’t know what you want from me…”

She took a breath, striving to stop herself from piercing his skin with the knife.

“What I want? Ha! What I want is to make you feel as scared and powerless as you made me feel… is anything coming back to you yet… well, Sir, or should I say Mr. MacDonald?”

His face drained completely of blood. She watched the slow dawning of recognition cross his face, followed by sheer panic.

“Jules… Julianne? Is it you?” his voice so low she almost couldn’t hear him.

*

She closed her eyes.

Nausea swept over her as she was transported her back to the school art room, empty but for the two of them. He had asked her to stay back to help him tidy the supplies away. As she gathered pastels and charcoal she heard the distinct click of the door locking and turned to see him walking towards her.

“We are going to play a game Julianne,” he had said, pushing her down to the floor, his hand around her throat, “Do. Not. Make. A. Sound.”

*

Opening her eyes she replied to him, her voice ice cold, “You told me to not make a sound but you can scream all you like. My neighbours are out of town and no-one ever comes by this way,” she began to cut into the skin on his chest, drawing thin rivulets of blood, “No-one will hear you.”

He screamed, a high-pitched wail as she cut deeper, dragging the dagger further down his body.

💋

Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

To Sin or Not To Sin…

The fabulous Molly who created the wonderful body positive meme that is Sinful Sunday is an inspiration to me and to countless other bloggers. I have participated in the meme several times and have even made her top lists a couple of times… yay!

The ideology behind the meme is that there is beauty in everything. You don’t need to be a Victoria’s Secret model to join in. You can post a naked selfie, an abstract image, a still life composition… whatever you like, as long as it can be interpreted in terms of erotica.

I have posted photos of my favourite toys, my nylon clad legs and high heels, flirty short skirts, lingerie shots, my lips and mouth, my markings after a good session with His belt.

I always enjoy trying to come up with a new idea each week but last Sunday I had nothing to offer. I was dry! I felt people were fed up of images of my legs, mouth or toys.

I had taken a shot of my breast a few weeks back. It is a very nice image, (if I do say so myself!), artsy, subtle, black and white, not remotely porno. But I have not shared it because I am scared.

Perhaps it is because this blog is linked to my vanilla blog and my twitter and I have shown my face there. The vast majority of people who post images of their naked bodies have the good sense to not show their faces… I am not so smart it seems.

If I post my boob shot, it automatically posts to tumblr and twitter and then I face the prospect of all my friends seeing it. That weirds me out!

Why the fuss? you are probably asking. It’s only a bloody boob! Yes, people have seen my face, but they know I have breasts, so the photo wouldn’t come as a massive shock to them I imagine!

And what’s more, even without any tweaking, it actually looks pretty damn good in the photo so I shouldn’t be so daft about it.

But I am.

I guess it’s about putting yourself out there to be judged, which I know is NOT what SinfulSunday is about, but it happens. It’s about being vulnerable and real. I would post my shot with the hope of getting positive comments, but the risk of people being cruel is there. I know the whole point of SS is to be proud of what you have and not care about the judgements of others.

Maybe I’m not ready? Will I ever be?

I think Molly and my fellow bloggers would say, “You go girl! Be out and proud!”.

I wish I was braver…


If you are interested in having a peep, I have a Sinful Sunday category on my side menu ➡️

Copyright, 2015, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All  rights reserved.

Sir and Little Girl… Knifeplay

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She felt the cold of the blade rest against her hip bone. She bit her lip and opened her eyes.

This time he had decided to allow her to watch rather than be blindfolded.

Her wrists were securely bound to the bedposts with metal cuffs. Her legs spread wide, ankles shackled.

Wearing a matching lace bra and thong and nothing else, she lay waiting. Watching him.

His dark eyes narrowed as they met her deep green ones.

The hint of a menacing twitch playing around his lips was all that indicated his pleasure at her anticipation, her uncertainty, her fear. He relished the hardening he felt in his trousers.

Watching her breathing increase; observing the flush that crept along her jawline and over her cheeks; seeing her pupils dilate; the dewy glistening of sweat resting on her upper lip; all combined to create the heady vision lying before him. Flooded with power and lust, his senses razor-sharp, everything around him refocused into slow motion. Hawk-like, no movement or reflex of hers escaped his scrutiny.

There was nothing quite like seeing her scared and unsure of what was about to happen. Except, of course, for the transformation that took place behind her eyes when she realised what was in store for her.

She watched him. A mixture of desire and fear in equal measure making her feel slightly lightheaded, even whilst lying bound and prone on the bed. She licked her lips, tasting the saltiness on her upper lip and felt the wetness between her legs seep through the thin fabric of her sheer underwear. His wrist flicked and the blade severed the thin strip of lace on her hip, then he quickly flashed over to cut the other side, leaving the diaphanous triangle of material resting on her public bone.

A low chuckle from his throat as he traced the tip of the knife over her skin, from one hip bone to the other, up along her stomach and circling her navel, dipping ever so slightly into it and back out to leisurely travel up towards her breasts. Her ribcage expanding and contracting, faster and faster, as her eyes followed the blade’s journey across her pale white skin, watching the faint pink roadmap of scratches it left in its wake. He hadn’t pierced the skin… yet.

He rested the knife-edge flat against her sternum, beneath her bra, between her breasts and he watched her. His vision keenly focused, ears tuned to the sound of her rapid breathing. He could smell the chemicals seeping from her pores, a mixture of fresh sweat, her own special scent of vanilla and toffee, and something else… fear.

A sense of complete concentration descended over him. He twisted the blade, careful not to knick her flesh, but only to snap the bra, releasing her breasts from it and they bounced free.

Using the tip of the knife he once again charted a course, this time around her erect nipples, toying with them, his eyes flicking between his hand and her face to gauge her state.

Her eyes were closed, breathing heavy, face flushed. He breathed her name and she opened her eyes. He raised his eyebrow in a silent question and felt pride when she imperceptibly nodded her consent to continue.

Running the blade down her torso towards the shredded fabric at her groin, he used it to peel the remnants back, revealing her smooth, bare pubis. His breathing deepened with overwhelming desire as he observed her pale white, beautiful mound and her secret pink slit nestled between her velvet folds. She glistened with lust.

An involuntary gasp escaped her lips as she felt the, now warm, metal flattened against her pussy. Unable to control it, she felt herself starting to tremble. The heat, the throbbing, the wetness between her legs increasing to the point of being almost unbearable.

A small cry from her lips and he growled, “No. You will not come until I give you the command. For that little one, you will pay.”

Clenching the knife handle between his teeth, he roughly tore the sodden scraps from between her legs, rolled them up and prized open her jaws, stuffing her thong deep into her mouth, making her gag. Her eyes momentarily widened in panic and she buckled against her restraints. The metal of the cuffs ripped into her wrists, causing her to subdue her struggles and focus on breathing through her nose.

“Suck, little one. Drink in all your juices and remember, no noise. No orgasm until I say so.”

She nodded, her jaw distended around the gag in her mouth. She could taste the residual laundry detergent and softener mingled with her own flavour and felt the unpleasant dryness of fabric against teeth.

“I think you need some time to reflect on what an impertinent brat you’ve been.”

Her eyes followed him as he walked over to the table and puts the knife down. He turned and came back to the end of the bed, his hands gripping each bedpost and he simply watched her, contemplating her. Drinking in her exposed state.

Taking his phone from his back pocket, he angled the viewfinder between her legs and started taking photos.

Close-ups, long shots of her entire exposed body, close-ups of her face, her eyes filled with tears, mascara running down the sides of her face into her hairline.

“We need a reminder for you of exactly what happens to little girls that don’t listen.”

She nodded vigorously from the bed, her eyes pleading with him for forgiveness. He looked down between her legs again and saw hot wet she had become, her juices dripping down onto the sheet from her lips.

“You love being photographed you dirty little slut. Don’t you? You love showing off your juicy wet cunt, don’t you?”

Arching her back as much as her restraints allowed, she squirmed with desire and need and nodded again, trying everything she could to beg him for release.

Pulling the soggy rags from her mouth, he leaned in close to her, nose-to-nose and repeated, “Don’t you?”

“Yes Sir, yes I do.”

“Dirty little bitch.” His hand struck her across the cheek, leaving a red flush, which made him harder than ever.

Positioning himself at the head of the bed, he undid his flies and stroked his hard, throbbing erection. He slapped her forehead with it lightly and she obediently arched her neck to allow her tongue to run over his testicles and suck them gently. Placing his hands under her shoulders, he roughly hoisted her up further on the bed, leaving her head slightly dangling over the edge, the slight slack he had left at her ankle shackles now straining and stretching her legs uncomfortably.

Lowering himself on to her, he forced his entire sac into her mouth, stretching her lips wide. Her tongue worked on them as he twisted his fingers through her hair.

Pushing her head away and releasing himself, he bent forward slightly and she began to hungrily lick and suck on him, working up and down his shaft, along his ridge, applying firm pressure, before taking his velvety tip inside her lips and running her wet tongue around it, tasting the clear liquid beading there.

Grabbing her breasts, squeezing them and twisting her nipples painfully, he rammed his cock into her mouth, forcing her to deep-throat him. Gagging, tears streaming down her face, she sucked and squeezed him with her mouth and throat muscles, her eyes always locked on his, as he demanded.

Pinching and slapping her swollen nipples, he thrusted himself into her, fucking her mouth with unreserved brutality. Feeling the exquisite tightening in his balls, he growled the order, “Now! Come now!” and bucked violently as he erupted inside her throat, just as she spasmed involuntarily against her restraints, pulling against them and chafing her delicate skin.

Looking down at her as she licked and swallowed every last drop, he released her wrists from the cuffs before moving down to repeat the action at her ankles.

He ran a soft cloth under the hot water at the sink in the corner, he wrung it out and, climbing onto the bed, he tenderly cleaned up her scraped and bloody skin where the metal had dug into her.

Her eyes glazed, limbs ragdoll loose, she flopped her head against his chest as he cradled her in his arms and stroked her face.

“Good girl,” he soothed, his voice filled with love and pride.

a special shout out to my technical advisor! who wishes to remain nameless… you rock!

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Copyright, 2015, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

The Fairground

He is grinning when I open the door to him.

“Come. I have a surprise for you baby girl,” he holds out his hand to me and I take it and follow him to his car.

“Where are we going?”

“Ssssh. You will see. Don’t be impatient.”

He parks the car on an empty street and we begin to walk, his arm slung casually over my shoulders.

We round a corner and I see a fairground, dodgems, and an enormous Ferris wheel.

I look up at him and a mild panic starting to run through me.

I hate heights.

They terrify me.

He knows this. We talked about fears and desires that night in Room 1220.

What the fuck is he planning?

I am relieved when he leads me to The Waltzer ride and we take our seats in the car. I notice him leaning up to say something to the attendant as the young man lowers the safety barrier. He slips something into the attendant’s hand. He grins down at me and puts his arm around my shoulders.

“Having fun baby girl?”

I giggle up at him, “I love The Walzter!”

Impulsively, I stretch up and kiss him on his lips. I feel so happy that I simply cannot stop myself. He pulls back for a second, frowning, but then his face softens and he returns my kiss.

I feel as if I have scored a tiny victory, although at the same time I wonder if he had been really irritated at my spontaneous gesture of affection.

The Ferris Wheel pops into my mind again.

The ride starts. The platform begins to move, slowly at first on its undulating track, but gains pace rapidly. The car starts to move back and forth on its wheels and we look at each other at start to laugh.

Without warning we are whirled wildly around and the centrifugal force presses us back in our seats. I scream with delight and fright and look up to see the attendant has been holding our car until it reached the top of its roll and then he spun us.

As the ride continues our attendant is unrelenting, and we are treated to the most exciting, albeit slightly nauseating, rides. I feel sorry for the other riders who are not getting any extra spins, thanks to the sneaky bribery of my companion.

When the ride finally comes to an end we stagger off, and I collapse against his broad chest laughing so hard, tears rolls from my eyes. He takes my chin in his hand and lifts it to kiss me so passionately that I forget that we are standing in the middle of a fairground surrounded by parents and kids.

Our tongues meet and dance around each other.

Our bodies press hard against each other. It is all I can do not to grind my hips against him as I can feel his erection against me.

He breaks the kiss and stares directly into my eyes, panting. His eyes are cloudy with desire and I do not think I have ever felt happier in my life.

“Ready for the next ride baby girl?”

I nod my head enthusiastically, like a child.

“Close your eyes. I am going to lead you to the next one. It’s a surprise.”

I am scared but do as I am told and trust him to lead me. I have a sinking feeling he is going to bring me to the Ferris Wheel but I know that I will not fight him.

I am learning… This is how we are

“Keep those eyes closed.”

I feel him lifting me up and placing me into a seat and he sits next to me. Again a safety barrier is lowered and he instructs me to not open my eyes.

I feel us beginning to move. Slowly. My feet leave the ground and we sway slightly. I reach out and grab hold of the safety barrier but keep my eyes locked closed. To be honest, I am scared to open them and confirm my fear that he has strapped me into the bloody Ferris Wheel.

We are rising higher, I can feel a breeze. He shifts in his seat and we sway again. A squeal leaves my lips. I can barely breathe.

“Open your eyes,” I shake my head, No!

“Open. Your. Eyes.”

I feel his hand gripping my jaw roughly and twisting my head in his direction. He squeezes hard and my eyes fly open in shock to meet his dark blue gaze. He turns my head and I see we are moving high above the ground.

My heart leaps in my chest, I cannot breathe. Nausea washes over me and I feel that I am going to start to cry. His hand moves again and I am facing him, our noses brushing against each others.

“Relaaaax,” he whispers and licks the outline of my lips as he starts to rock our car again even more. I gasp in terror and his tongue is deep inside my mouth, stifling any cry I was about to make. He continues to kiss me deeply for the next few cycles the wheel makes until our car stops at the top of the wheel.

My eyes fly open, panic-stricken.

Why have we stopped?!

I realise that we are suspended at the apex of the wheel while the other passengers disembark from their cars below us.

His hand still gripping my chin, he uses his other hand to push the hem of my dress up my thigh and I feel his fingers brush against my underwear.

“Open your legs more,” he growls against my mouth and, as if under a spell, I obey. He slides his fingers inside my underwear and finds me wet and throbbing. He begins his slow circular massage against me and I wriggle in response, which in turn causes the car to sway.

I see that we are on the downward journey now, but not for long, as we stop again to allow more people to leave the ride.

He massages me fast then slow, no longer kissing me, just looking into my eyes as he watches me writhe under his hand. I can see we are getting closer and closer to the point where our car will stop and we must get off.

“Please. Please.” I beg, desperate to come before we are seen.

Abruptly his hand withdraws from my under my skirt and he pushes his wet fingers into my mouth. Tears spring to my eyes.

I cannot believe this. He was so warm and tender after the Waltzer, then he frightened me so badly, and finally left me so unsatisfied and let down.

I feel ashamed and humiliated.

He lifts the safety barrier and helps me from the car, my legs like jelly, and walks me silently out of the fairground and back to his car.

Once we are inside, I finally cannot hold onto my feelings any longer and burst into tears. He glances over at me, leans over and opens the glove compartment and tosses me a box of tissues.

He starts the engine and drives me home.

When I unlock my front door he takes my shoulder, leads me to the sofa, sits and pulls me onto his lap and wraps his arms around me, which makes me start crying again.

I am totally confused.

We had so much fun on the Waltzer, he let me kiss him and kissed me back… but then he was so cruel to me.

He is kissing away my hot tears as they run down my cheeks.

He lifts me off his lap and lies me down along the length of the sofa and, kneeling between my knees, pushes my dress right up to my navel. He pulls off my underwear and glides two fingers inside me.

His head dips and I feel his tongue, wet and hot, on my clitoris as he continues to massage the inside wall of my vagina. He increases the pressure of his strokes as he licks and sucks at me.

I feel an uncontrollable surge of pleasure, starting low in my belly, up to my breasts and nipples, radiating through my entire body as I spasm and convulse under him. My hands reach down and my fingers curl through his wavy hair as I come, over and over again, crying out his name.

 –

  Copyright 2014 by MsT secretgarden. All rights reserved.

After The Hotel…

Last night in the hotel, after we ate and talked for a while, (he was funny and warm and had great stories), he told me to stay in the room as long as I liked, take a bath, enjoy the opulence and, with a final kiss, he left me.

This morning my doorbell rings and I answer it to the, now familiar, smiling woman from the florists.

“You really are a lucky girl!” she grins at me as she hands me an enormous arrangement of sweet scented hyacinths and freesias.

I thank her, close the door and rush to open the accompanying card, excited to see what he has planned this time.

The card : “You taste as sweet as these smell.”

That’s all?! No instructions?

I am surprised at how disappointed I feel.

It has been five days and nothing from him.

No flowers.

No cards.

Nothing.

I have hardly slept.

I cannot concentrate on anything.

I drift through my days on autopilot, counseling my clients, trying to focus on what they are saying, but I am not really present.

I rush home in the evenings to see if he is at my door.

I am stunned at the realization of how very little I actually know about him.

We have met three times.

He has fucked me twice.

I have only his name. No phone number. No address. He has kept himself a mystery.

All I have is the number for the publishing firm who arranged our meeting for him to research the psychology of trauma for his new book.

I will not allow myself to call his editor. I must maintain some small scrap of dignity in this… situation.

I go to a book shop and buy one of his books. His eyes stare out at me from the photo on the back cover. He is very serious looking in the photo. Unsmiling. Tough looking, just as a writer of dark twisted thrillers should look.

I want so desperately to see him.

To talk to him.

To touch him.

I sit in the bath at night, my moods shifting from despair to irritation to frustration and back to sadness, as I wonder what I did wrong.

What did I do to disappoint him?

Was I not good enough for him?

Is he fucking another woman right now?

Is he ok? Has anything happened to him?

I am not sure how long I can bear this.

His absence is killing me.

Day six.

I am locking up my counselling room for the night. I have stayed later than usual, tying to catch up on reading and recording therapy notes.

My muscles ache from tension and I feel the beginnings of a headache coming on.

I have resigned myself to the fact that I might not ever see him again.

That I might never feel the things in my body that he made me feel.

That my life will never feel the same now that he has had me.

I am walking home in the dark, the street empty, maybe due to the drop in temperature recently and the light mist falling. I have no umbrella so I add to my list of annoyances that my hair is going to be a frizzy mess when I get home.

What the fuck does it matter? No one will be there to see you,” I think miserably.

In the quite of the street I become aware of footsteps behind me. As like most women walking alone in the dark, my senses are on high alert.

I pick up my pace, eager to just get home.

The footsteps behind me speed up and I feel a jolt of adrenaline shoot through my system.

Stay calm, stay focused, just walk tall and fast…” but I am starting to feel scared and very alone and vulnerable.

I am still about ten minutes from my house and my eyes are frantically searching the road ahead of me for signs of life.

The footsteps are definitely getting closer but I dare not turn around.

Before I know what has happened, I feel a large hand grasp the back of my neck and a pathetic tiny squeal leaves my lips.

I have no control anymore as I find myself shoved, by my attacker, to my left, entering a service alleyway for a closed shop.

“Oh Sweet Jesus, fuck! Please don’t let this be happening…” I think of all the clients I have counseled, and their recounting of rape and abuse, and panic clouds my vision. I think I might be about to, perhaps mercifully, pass out.

I hear a low chuckle from behind me and feel warm breath close to my ear as he leans in and whispers, “Miss me much?”

I spin around and slump against the dirty concrete wall as I look up at him.

“Fuck! You!” I scream at him, panic-stricken and completely terrified. My open hand automatically flies out to slap him but he is fast and grabs my wrist and twists it painfully to stop me.

Then his lips are on mine, tongue deep inside my mouth, and he pins me roughly to the wall

He breaks the kiss/assault and grabs my jaw forcing me to look up at him.

“Don’t. Ever. Try. To. Hit. Me. Again.” His eyes are so dark in the shadows of the alley that I cannot be sure, but I think I hear a trace of amusement in his command.

His mouth is back on mine, stealing my breath from me. His hand forces my coat open and are immediately under my top searching for my breast. He pushes the underwire cup of my bra up and pulls hard on my nipple, while his other hand pops open the button on my jeans and forces its way down between my legs.

I am hot and wet instantly. I am vaguely aware of the fact that we are just off the street in an alley and that at any time we could be seen.

But I don’t care.

I just want him.

He is back and that is all I have wanted.

His fingers are deep inside me, thumb rubbing my clitoris roughly, not painful but very, very close. His fingers twist my nipple hard and I cry out a small gasp.

I do not know if it was the fright, the adrenaline or the fact that it is just him here pleasuring/punishing me but I cannot fight off the explosion of my orgasm any longer. He has only been kissing and touching me for a couple of minutes and that is enough to take me over the edge, as I cling to his shoulders to stop myself sinking to the filthy ground.

He pulls his hand from my jeans and glares down into my eyes as he pushes his wet fingers into my mouth and I taste myself.

“I missed you baby girl,” he smiles down at me, “Now, let’s get you home so I can fuck you properly.”

We lie facing each other on my bed. He has just finished pummelling me harder than he ever has and we are both damp with sweat and panting.

He reaches over and traces the outline of my lips with his little finger, tickling me.

“Where did you go?” I ask.

“That is no concern of yours baby girl. I come and I go as I please,” he casually pinches my lower lip and twists it until it hurts then releases it.

“I was scared. I was worried something had happened to you,” I whisper.

Sighing, he sits up and looks down on me, frowning, “Don’t be a bore.”

His hand reaches down between my legs and cups me, he slides his fingers inside me, “As if I could stay away from this for long,” then brings his hand up and sucks on his fingers, grinning at me.

“I had no way to contact you.”

“You don’t need to. I will arrange when we meet,” he tilts his head and smiles at me as if I am a child that needs things explained to them over and over again, “This is how it is with us.”

I decide to let it go.

He is right.

This is how we are.

I think I love him.

  Copyright 2014 by MsT secretgarden. All rights reserved.