The Sin Of Lust
My fingers trace patterns in the cum on your stomach, curious and tentative.
Wrists And Handcuffs
I do not let people touch my wrists.
A Scene
I wove my hands through my long, red hair as she drove us home. I paused when I found what I searched for: a section of burnt hair, touched by embers blown into my face by a well-timed gust of wind.
Regal
Rain dances along the gravel outside the plastered window, dulling the blade of sunlight that cuts through the blinds and rests upon the body of my lover.