I hate the way my heart races, the way my skin prickles. I hate how good his lips look and how bad I want to kiss them.
An eternity of Unfortunates have suffered at the unwanted hands of Fortunates, and here I sit, on the lap of one, enticed by one.
Do you like this? he asks a silent question. I nod, barely a movement, and he tightens his hold, pulling me against him. I go with it, turning my head into his neck. The tip of my nose kisses the hard ridge of his jaw as his lips graze my hair-covered nape. He smells of a fresh shower, of soap and cotton. I hold my breath, not wanting my short pants to blow across his flesh and expose me.
I drop my shoulder and tilt my head, offering myself up. I remember liking the way he kissed me, the feel of his lips. It's a vivid memory of the night of his birthday. I was swept up in the passion he stirred in me, and I would've given him everything then and there if he asked.