[ if someone asked frank how he ended up in this exact position, he wouldn't be able to explain it, but then he could say that about how he ended up in this fucking house in the first place. and right now, the answers don't matter. what matters is the rasp of her dress against his jeans, the low timbre of her voice hitting somewhere at the base of his skull. he tilts his head back to look up at her.
one hand spread on her thigh, the other ruching up her dress near her hip, frank wants to take it slow. wants to be indulgent, take his time. he likes taking his time. his touches are practically chaste right now. ]
Do you want me to?
[ probably not. he doesn't want to either; this is much better. ]
let them eat cake 2 😌
one hand spread on her thigh, the other ruching up her dress near her hip, frank wants to take it slow. wants to be indulgent, take his time. he likes taking his time. his touches are practically chaste right now. ]
Do you want me to?
[ probably not. he doesn't want to either; this is much better. ]