Path

Suddenly, his touch became softer and he kissed me so tenderly that I wanted to cry again. “You are so wet; my boy is drenched in you,” he whispers against my mouth. I groan out loud at his words, and I know my mind has made up my mind.

“Make love to me,” I replied. My voice sounded so foreign to my own ears. His heart thumped against my chest, and his masculinity twitched in my secret place. He took a deep, sporadic breath and pressed his forehead against my shoulder. In the silence, my hunger struggles with the growing humiliation of whether he's uttered some cruel word, or a silly joke. I will die.

Finally, he lifted his head and looked at me. I couldn't guess the message in his eyes. He conveyed so much in a single glance: need, anger, confusion and something else. “Damn it,” he said.

His shoulders sag a little, and I worry that this is the moment he'll say something that makes me wish I could curl up and die. I wanted to say something, maybe get the upper hand like, 'I was just j