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13 stories found
Your thumb brushes the pulse point at my wrist, and suddenly the breath I’ve spent a decade mastering simply deserts me.
He tasted of brined olives and the sharp, citric heat of the galley, his thumbs pinning my wrists against the cold stainless steel.
Julian’s hand was a heavy, warm anchor on my thigh, mocking the ‘Quiet Car’ sign while his thumb traced the seam of my stockings.
He tastes like the first press of a cane harvest, raw and heavy with the promise of something that could burn.
!["You Really Shouldn't Have Ordered the Pinot"](https://miscd.fra1.digitaloceanspaces.com/medium/"you-really-shouldn't-have-ordered-the-pinot"-917-cover-1779004859744.jpg)
She traced the edge of my laptop with a fingernail that had a tiny chip in the red polish, looking at me like I was a script she was about to pass on.
His thumb traced the line where my leggings met my waist, a deliberate, grounding pressure that made my breath hitch in my throat.
You’re pressing me back against the mahogany shelving, and for a second, I’m terrified the first editions won't be the only things bruised tonight.
The bass was a bruise against my ribs and West was looking at me like I was the only drink in a dry county.
He tastes like the coffee we drank an hour ago and the cold air he brought in from the porch, sharp and grounding.
My psoas is screaming from the tension of being the perfect mother of the bride, but Elias is watching me with a hunger that makes my alignment feel like a lie.
!["I Think We're Past the Point of Professional Courtesy"](https://miscd.fra1.digitaloceanspaces.com/medium/"i-think-we're-past-the-point-of-professional-courtesy"-747-cover-1776499259188.jpg)
The fluorescent hum of the Acela lavatory flickered against the salt-crusted window while her hand white-knuckled the plastic sink-edge, drowning out the conductor’s announcement.
I watched the rain smear the Louvre into a grey thumbprint, wondering if you still kept that silver flask tucked in your tuxedo's inner pocket.