barest, her most raw. Here, she would be a tumbling of curves and softness. Here, different things could happen.
What would he do?
Her legs slid across each other in the slippery heat. Had he slowed? How close was he? What was he doing?
“Leslie?” The tiny question froze in the icy air, was swallowed by the vastness of the vacant winter sky. Then a sound like radio static as boots scuffed the ground behind her, two gentle thuds as knees fell to the gravel.
Kneeling? He’s kneeling. Right behind…what is he...
An ionic closeness—hovering, inching, the hushed slip of his lips parting.
“Les?”
As his teeth dug into the soft triangle of flesh between her neck and shoulder, she shuddered at the strength of his hand on her skin.
It felt good.
***
About the Author
Curt McDermott is a high school English teacher and lover of ghost stories, comic books, and the Oxford comma. He and his wife live in New Hampshire with a dog and several ducks. See more of his stuff at hallowpen.com, or chuck him an email at [email protected].
Thanks very much for reading.
What would he do?
Her legs slid across each other in the slippery heat. Had he slowed? How close was he? What was he doing?
“Leslie?” The tiny question froze in the icy air, was swallowed by the vastness of the vacant winter sky. Then a sound like radio static as boots scuffed the ground behind her, two gentle thuds as knees fell to the gravel.
Kneeling? He’s kneeling. Right behind…what is he...
An ionic closeness—hovering, inching, the hushed slip of his lips parting.
“Les?”
As his teeth dug into the soft triangle of flesh between her neck and shoulder, she shuddered at the strength of his hand on her skin.
It felt good.
***
About the Author
Curt McDermott is a high school English teacher and lover of ghost stories, comic books, and the Oxford comma. He and his wife live in New Hampshire with a dog and several ducks. See more of his stuff at hallowpen.com, or chuck him an email at [email protected].
Thanks very much for reading.
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