Submitted by megan on Sun, 06/21/2009 - 22:48
I flop on the bed when we get home from the club. I don't want it.
I'm tired, it's late, it's been a long week.
Yeah, you say. Apart. Run a finger along my instep.
Doesn't matter, I say. That's just the what are you-
Because you've got your tongue out where your finger was. Slipping into the cutaway side of my killer pumps, little flicks, a long flat lick.
I lie back down again, silent with my eyes closed. You hold my ankle tight.