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To sum it up, he was a morally gray hunk who was a total red flag—my age group’s favorite color scheme.
“Fuck, Dot. Your goddamn existence turns me on. Your mere breathing makes my balls tingle.”
“I’m not saying that to make you feel better. I’m saying that because fucking you is probably all I’ll want to do once we start.”
Jesus, Dot, I could live inside this tight pussy if you’d let me, and You’re the most beautiful girl in the whole fucking universe, no close seconds, and Watching my dick inside you is more breathtaking than Paris at night.
“You’re not broken, Dot.” He stuck the cigarette in his mouth, patting my thigh offhandedly. “A little cut, sure. All diamonds are.”
“Fine. Want the truth? Here’s the truth: No, I didn’t ‘have feelings’ for you.” He air-quoted the words with a sneer. “I was in love with you. Honest to fucking God, full-blown, snatch-my-heart-out-and-let-you-use-it-as-a-stress-ball in love with you.” He looked disgusted with himself for uttering each word. “And you didn’t give half a shit about me.”
“I didn’t fall.” He omitted a sharp, irritated huff. “You fucking tripped me.”
oBITCHuary: What am I, then? McMonster: If I have a say about it? Mine.
