The Devil's Favorite
She swallows when I speak, watching my lips, how close they are, knowing that if she as much as said a thing, she would end up brushing them against mine.
"You're free to hate me, Angel Eyes," I say. "Just think about me. Tonight. And every night. Tomorrow and everyday. I know you will."
I press closer to her but she tilts her head to the side, avoiding my lips by a hair's breadth, and when I move mine diagonally towards hers, she raises her jaw, denying me that foul, foul mouth of hers, like she doesn't know that every single time she says 'Fuck,' I want to taste it on her lips. But she is too livid to care. I shake my head as I grin. There are some downsides with upsetting her after all.
Bab Populer