My mind returned to Martin and me, the night before, lying next to each other, his bedsheets a tangled, sweaty mess. I’d shut my eyes, nestled into him, on my side with my arm bent to hold up my head. My hair fell to his face. I felt his breath as he blew it away.… Continue reading Walk of shame (short fiction)
That afternoon, fate played its hand. Harry was thrilled as she took the seat next to him. She smiled and greeted him with a cheery hello. He responded, intoxicated as he noticed her nipples, pert and dark, through her top. Interesting, he thought, no bra today; no knickers last week. He was close enough to make out her scent: Daphne.