And every time his expression becomes cagey, I know what comes next. His kisses and his hands. Jesus, his hands are always so desperate and horny, on the verge of tearing my clothes off so he can get to my bare skin. To my breasts, my thighs, my pussy. As if he needs it all like he needs the air. As if he needs to make me come and he needs to come himself while I’m spasming in his arms. And all I can do is give in to him. Why wouldn’t I? I’m his prize, right? Except, maybe those are simply words.
