Somewhere In Brooklyn

21 - November 24

I've finally finished reading the book that you've been reading at the train last night.

And its sequel, too.

So, did you enjoy it? Because, surprisingly, as much as I had a hard time reading it, I did enjoy it. Turns out it's not a dystopian novel with royalty and revolution drama, huh? I almost shared the book with Scott. Thank heavens, I didn't or else I wouldn't hear the end of his teasing.

After reading, I did something. And my mind was blank except for two things.

First—it's been a long time since I've done it. The door was locked. The curtains were drawn. It's too quiet that I could hear my own breathing, short and heavy, gasping for air. My heart was beating so fast. At the thought of my fingertips tracing your neck and collarbone to everything down there, my body shuddered. One hand fell back to the mattress to support myself, white knuckles gripping the sheets. While the other started to slowly jack, building up a rhythm until the sound it made resonated with your name.

Second—you. I couldn't stop thinking of you that way. I tried to think of someone else, some random girl. But all I could see when I close my eyes was your ginger hair and your green eyes and fuck, your smile. Your lips. Oh shit.

I'm so sorry but it's so hard to feel guilty when it feels so good that it hurts.

I'm sorry, Althea. But hey, I cleaned up before writing this.

//wink wink