What's home, if not the first place you run away from? What's love, if not that unexplainable, blazing feeling which comes after a period of hate?
Reputable for her catchy appearance, her over-niceness, her obsession with cartoon animations and her...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Chase Atlantic ft. Goon Des Garcons - Consume.
~
SELF-RESTRAINT IS FOR STRONG MEN. I Don't be weak.
There are only three things in this world that make me weak - my mama, Taylor and Joan. Taylor is gone, so now it's two people...and something else.
Swimwear.
Fuck no, not just swimwear. Swimwear and that uniform on her body.
Hell, it's not even the clothes; it's her body. Her curvy body which almost dared to set me on fucking fire when I caught her—literally—singing that stupid song and dancing with abandon four long weeks ago, despite the fact that it was moist and ice cold. And fuck, all that fucking hair. I wanted to touch it so badly; see how it feels to wrap my palm around each and every curly strand whilst they were framing her round face and dripping water intermittently.
I'd not even recovered from the hard-on I got the night before that morning from seeing her in that stupid uniform on my kitchen island and hearing those feminine noises I made her produce; but then again, the universe must have been out to get me, because I saw her the next morning again by the pool through my window in those fucking condoms of a two-piece with a tripod stand and a camera.
She was talking to her phone for whatever reason, I don't care about that.
Funny thing is it happened today too. Seems like she really likes swimming half-naked.
When I stood glued to the floor beside my window-wall for forty fucking minutes, watching her goof around in the water with that glowing skin partially wrapped up in another bikini, I knew that I couldn't work from home like I initially planned on doing.
I knew I had to get the hell out of my own house if not I'd lose my sanity.
Before I forcefully tore my gaze away from her and begrudgingly got ready for work, I caught sight of that same hot pink towel that she'd used to cover up her body from me four weeks ago.
Her scream and juvenile reaction towards me then proved that she would never have worn such pieces of clothing - or unclothing, rather - if she knew that I was present at home.
However, I wasn't only present on these two occasions, I was also gawking at her with a very hard cock.
To be quite frank, I don't think my hard-on ever went away completely since that night she treated my face in my kitchen.
When I noticed her presence after her mama and her grandfather left that night, I could have literally turned on the gas and set our compromise on fire because I couldn't avoid her anymore—I wanted her in my personal space, I wanted to smell her, I wanted to touch her. I wanted to see what was behind that stupid singlet of hers. Call it a crave if you must.
