Riot Rules (Crooked Sinners)

by Callie Hart

“You don’t like that?” He swallows. “It’s just…intimate.” “You think me doing that is more intimate than touching your dick?” “Absolutely.” “You realize how fucked up that is, right?” “People usually wanna touch my dick way more than they wanna touch my face. But if you wanna poke my forehead, have at it.” “I don’t want to poke your fore—” I shake my head. “Never mind.” It’s amazing how easily he can bait me, even when he’s trying to oblige me. He still hasn’t opened his eyes. Frustrated and even more stubborn now, I touch my fingers to his cheek again, ready for his reaction this time. There’s no flinch, though. No reaction at all. He stands there, still as a marble statue, while I trace my fingers over his features, one at a time. His strong jaw; his cheekbones; his nose; over each eyebrow. He huffs out a sharp breath when I gently stroke the scar on his chin, and I can’t tell if he’s laughing or irritated. I move on, using a featherlight touch to map out the shell of his ear.