Will Sumner személy
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– Probably. I mean, you had mussels for dinner. That’s like . . . sinewy, chewy sea shit. But still, you could give me a blow job and I wouldn’t be thinking about how you just swallowed mussels.
– Did you go for a run this morning?
– And a bike ride.
– You’re so disciplined. – She leaned forward with her hands on her chin and batted her lashes at me. – It does really nice things for your muscles.
Laughing, I told her, – It calms me. Keeps me from . . . – I searched for words, feeling my neck heat. – From being stupid.
– That isn’t what you were originally going to say, – she said, sitting up. – It keeps you from what? Like getting into bar fights? Release of tension and man angst?
– It keeps me from wanting to fuck all the time.
– If you’re shopping, make sure Ziggs gets some . . . – I glanced up at Max, confirming he was absorbed in his newspaper before I whispered, – Make sure she gets some bras. Like, for jogging? But maybe also . . . just . . . regular ones, too. Okay?
– You are so lucky I’m not Bennett right now, – Chloe said, finally. – The amount of crap I would give you is on the planetary scale.”
– Don’t worry, Max is here and I can tell he’s enjoying this enough for the both of them.
She laughed. – We’re on it. Bras to support the supple breasts of your nongirlfriend. God, you’re a pig.
She hung up and I handed the phone back to Max, avoiding his eyes.
– Oh, Victoria, – he said, giddy. – Do you have a Secret? Do you have a fondness for helping women find well-fitting ladywear?
– Fuck off, (…)
Ziggy waved to Max, and then turned to me, eyes wide. – Wow. He's… hot. I met Bennett earlier, too. You guys are like the Hot Men's Club of Manhattan.
– I don't think that's a thing. And anyway, do you really think we'd let Max in? – I said grinning. – You look great, by the way.
Her head shot to me, eyes surprised, and I quickly added, – I'm glad you didn't let them cover you up with make up. I would miss your freckles.
– You would miss my freckles? – she asked in a whisper and I winced inwardly at how forward I sounded. – What man says that? Are you trying to make me have an orgasm right now?
Whoa. I no longer felt like I'd been too forward. I worked very hard to not look at her chest again when she said that. I was still getting used to the way she seemed to let out every thought she had.
"Ben,” Max said, leaning back in his chair with a giant grin. “It’s finally happened.”
I groaned, resting my head on my hand.
“You got your period?” Bennett asked. “Congratulations.”
“No, you twat,” Max said, laughing. “I’m talking about Will. He’s gone arse over tits for a girl."
I spotted a pen on her bedside table and reached for it without thinking murmuring
– Stay still – as I pulled the cap off with my teeth and pressed the tip to her skin. She didn’t ask what I was doing, didn’t even really seem to care.
When I finished, I pulled back, admiring my handiwork. – „ All that is rare for the rare.” – I loved the dark ink on her. Loved seeing it in my handwriting even more.
– I want to tattoo this on your skin.
– Nietzsche, – she whispered. – Overall a good quote, actually.
– Actually ?
– He was a bit of a misogynist, but came out of it with a few decent aphorisms.
– Like what? – I asked, blowing across the drying ink.
– „Sensuality often hastens the growth of love so much that the roots remain weak and easily torn up” – she quoted.
– What else? – She ran a fingertip across the scar on my chin, and studied my face carefully. – „All that glitters is not gold. A soft sheen charactarizes the most precious metal.” – I felt my smile falter a little.
– „ In the end one loves one’s desire and not what is desired ” – She tilted her head, running her hand through my hair. – Do you think that one is true?
I swallowed thickly, feeling trapped. I was too wrapped up in my own tangled thoughts to figure out whether she was selecting meaningful quotes about my past or just quoting some classic philosophy. – I think it’s sometimes true.
– But all that is rare for the rare… – she said quietly, looking down at her hip. – I like it.
– Good – I bent to even out one letter, darken another, humming.
– You’ve been singing that same song the entire time you wrote on me. – she whispered.
– I have ? – I hadn’t realized i’d even made a noise. I hummed a few more bars of it, trying to remember what it was I’d been singing: She Talks to Angels.