Bedsunk, hair in eyes, coughing the haunt of a 9 o'clock cigarette, she resigns to sleep.
I'm edges -- rough and looking to let the blood out.
Handful of skirt. I just want to cuddle. But her lips smell like her crotch tastes. Bubbling salt bog water. I'm doing the math. It's basic.
Under the shirt and pulling back the bra, lapping at her sunken breast, ouch.
Red. Smarting. And I never bit it.
"What did you do after work today?"