He’s too tired the first day. I try not to pout. I’m thirty years old, not a toddler, I scold myself when I feel like pulling on his clothes and whining. The following day, I text him at work. The urge to send him a naughty picture is almost too strong to resist, but if his boss happened to see it, I would never forgive myself. So I go for conservative instead. When can we “play”? He knows I’m eager. But he’s been calm, cool, and I want to smack him. He texts me back, and I picture him sighing tiredly. I suppose we can “play” tonight. I snort. Don’t strain yourself. I rush through dinner. Innuendos and flirty smiles flow out of me like a fountain of sensuality. It surprises me, and I think Nick too. He comes up behind me while I’m cooking and squeezes my butt. I feel like melting into a puddle on the floor. I hurry my chores and bedtime routine. Nick goes deliberately slow. Maybe he does have a sadistic streak. I grit my teeth and fight the urge to grab him by the collar and drag him into the bedroom.
What do You think about 31 Flavors Of Kink (2012)?
