(no subject)
"Good writers," I say, with my back to him and my eyes fixed on the monitor, "have a built-in shockproof shit detector. So saith Hemingway..."
"And you have that?" he asks, teasing. I grin, but he can't see me doing that, so I shrug, affecting nonchalence instead. I know that behind me he is slowly getting out of his clothes, and that later, when I sneak beneath the covers, he'll be warm, waiting, and naked.
But oh-... I shift in my chair and suddenly his arms snake around me, his tongue running across my left shoulder. I grin again, and this time, with his face pressed up against mine, he feels it.
"I thought you weren't in the mood," he says against my cheek. His breath is warm and smells of toothpaste...
OMG NO MOOD
"And you have that?" he asks, teasing. I grin, but he can't see me doing that, so I shrug, affecting nonchalence instead. I know that behind me he is slowly getting out of his clothes, and that later, when I sneak beneath the covers, he'll be warm, waiting, and naked.
But oh-... I shift in my chair and suddenly his arms snake around me, his tongue running across my left shoulder. I grin again, and this time, with his face pressed up against mine, he feels it.
"I thought you weren't in the mood," he says against my cheek. His breath is warm and smells of toothpaste...
OMG NO MOOD