Black Ties and White Lies

So the next time you find that you’re comparing yourself to other women, don’t. There’s never been anyone else. Just you.

“You’re my fiancée,” he growls. “The only bed you’ll be sleeping in is the one in my room.”

I’d call anywhere home if it meant I was with her, because my home is no longer a physical place. My home is her.

“Now it’s time for you to beg, Violet.”

I’m going to have Margo, but not until she’s a good little girl begging on her knees for me.

“You’re looking at me like you want to be—need to be—kissed,” I declare. The hand not holding the zipper slides slightly down her waist, gripping the fabric at her hip.

“And what if I do?”

My fingertips dig into her hip, bringing her body flush against mine. “Don’t say things you don’t mean,” I warn, leaning in so my lips flutter against the tender skin of her neck.

“I’d never.” Her small hips grind against me, snapping whatever resolve I had left.

“You’re looking at me like you want to be—need to be—kissed,” I declare. The hand not holding the zipper slides slightly down her waist, gripping the fabric at her hip.

“And what if I do?”

“You’re looking at me like you want to be—need to be—kissed,” I declare. The hand not holding the zipper slides slightly down her waist, gripping the fabric at her hip.

“And what if I do?”

My fingertips dig into her hip, bringing her body flush against mine. “Don’t say things you don’t mean,” I warn, leaning in so my lips flutter against the tender skin of her neck.

“I’d never.” Her small hips grind against me, snapping whatever resolve I had left.

“You’re looking at me like you want to be—need to be—kissed,” I declare. The hand not holding the zipper slides slightly down her waist, gripping the fabric at her hip.

“And what if I do?”

My fingertips dig into her hip, bringing her body flush against mine. “Don’t say things you don’t mean,” I warn, leaning in so my lips flutter against the tender skin of her neck.

“I’d never.” Her small hips grind against me, snapping whatever resolve I had left.

You’re looking at me like you want to be—need to be—kissed,” I declare. The hand not holding the zipper slides slightly down her waist, gripping the fabric at her hip.

“And what if I do?”