There was a bottle of tequila on the table between them.
It was always there between them, because its very presence was enough to allow them to continue denying there was anything else there.
He reached over, tugging her into his lap, waiting for resistance that never came.
She reached back for the bottle, taking a drink, smiling, handing it to him.
He took a pull and put it back, hands landing on her hips. Her lips were sweet and sticky from the alcohol, her skin was sticky and sweet from his lips.
And the alcohol between them, dulling his senses as it ran through his veins, and the fact that she had a boyfriend she'd be running back to didn't mean a damn thing.
Because she here.
She was real.
And no amount of bullshit they put between them made a damn bit of difference.
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It was always there between them, because its very presence was enough to allow them to continue denying there was anything else there.
He reached over, tugging her into his lap, waiting for resistance that never came.
She reached back for the bottle, taking a drink, smiling, handing it to him.
He took a pull and put it back, hands landing on her hips. Her lips were sweet and sticky from the alcohol, her skin was sticky and sweet from his lips.
And the alcohol between them, dulling his senses as it ran through his veins, and the fact that she had a boyfriend she'd be running back to didn't mean a damn thing.
Because she here.
She was real.
And no amount of bullshit they put between them made a damn bit of difference.
Reply
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