Tonight, I reach out and run a single fingertip up the smooth line of her leg. So much better than last night, with that ridiculous lingerie Tristian had picked out for her. I wouldn’t mind sharing her with them if I thought they really appreciated her. But they’re both so goddamn intent on dressing her up like a little slut. They want to erase her softness and sweetness, and replace it with red lips and lace and artificial bullshit. Girls like that are a dime a dozen. It’s like buying a premium steak, and then cooking it well-done and squirting ketchup on it. So wasteful.
