Four Weekends and a Funeral

by Ellie Palmer

“Is that how you live your life? Doing only what you want?” “No.” He shifts in his seat. “But I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.”

His jaw works as he starts and stops before saying his next sentence. “You’re kind of my favorite new person, if that’s not too weird a thing to say.”

I didn’t know a kiss could feel like this, like devouring while ravenous. Like lifesaving breath while drowning.

“I don’t know. I don’t think about my friends the way I think about you.” “How do you think about me?” I lick my lips, knowing I’m playing with fire. I don’t need him to answer. Everything I need to know is written all over his face. He reaches out and lightly grabs my mitten-covered hand in his. My body heats despite the freezing air. The juxtaposition of the hot and cold is too much to bear. I stare back at him, preparing to combust. He pauses, closing his eyes to consider my question. “I imagine your every detail. Constantly. God, imagine the things I could accomplish if I could think about anything other than you: my favorite person.”

But then he hooks his hand into my coat pocket, expertly spinning me around and pressing me against my front door with his body. It isn’t even fully closed before he’s kissing me against it, but I hear it click under our weight.

The Morning After

ROBBED. This deserved on page sex. The tension was too good to skip.

He makes me feel desired and wanted for every odd and boring part of me.