His mouth is on mine before I could think to pull away.
His embrace tight, his hands on my chest, welcomed.
I gave into him, on bent knees, lips parting, embracing his cock.
His mouth on my lips, sensitive to it’s prodding, he sighs as I gush.
He enters me, a smile on his face, as the ripples begin to rampage through my body.
Spent, in each other’s embrace, a light doze settles on us.
“What prompted you to get off the fence?” I inquire as I curl into him, enjoying the heat emanating off his bare flesh.
He is quiet, as words form in his head.
“I should have left 10 minutes before.”
“So you regret,” I reply, feeling the heat between us fade. He responds with something, I know not, for I’ve pulled into myself, not listening to his words, responding how I feel I should.
“I know it’s not me you regret.”
And yet, I know that is not true.
My self-worth/heart is too broken even to feel the need to cry.
Or even accept that maybe I am wrong.