You must be very secure in your masculinity to parade around in those budgie smugglers.” “Oh, I’m very secure.” He see-sawed the towel over his back. “And I’m happy to show you the rear view of my budgie smugglers—oh wait—you already ...
But baby, you started this.” The hand on her hip tugged her closer, her inner thighs brushing against the smooth fabric pulled taut over his long legs. She tugged at the fingers on her hip, wriggling at the same time, desperate to escape. “And no...
So you’ll cheat to win, huh?” “I’ll use any means necessary to win.” Her breasts ached at the smoky tone in his voice, like he’d reached out and rolled her nipples between his fingertips.
Friends may come and go but enemies accumulate.
When you lose your parents, the sadness doesn't go away. It just changes. It hits you sideways sometimes instead of head-on. Like now.
You never know who anybody is. Even the people closest to you.
The very sight of a daffodil still makes me shiver, because spring in the north of England is always so bitter.
