Make Me

Like he knows just what I need.

I need him to be as dirty as he can possibly be in order to reach that higher state of who gives a fuck. I need to know he can taste his own come without flinching, and that he doesn’t give a shit what Tyler’s doing, or saying. Despite the fact that Tyler is saying, ‘Yeah, that’s good, right? The taste of yourself, in her mouth. Knowing that you’ve just fucked her there and filled her with your jizz.’

Which even I find a little strong. And by strong I mean: my cunt clenches to hear him use that word, that one filthy word as though he’s not Tyler at all. He’s some dirty fucker who wants to push things as far as they will go – to the point where I find myself dancing between fear and anticipation. When Brandon breaks the kiss I turn my head and I can see how hard Tyler is. He’s thicker than Brandon, meatier, and it’s more obvious through his trousers. Especially when he cups the whole thing one-handed, as he looks down on me with that soft, sleepy gaze of his. It’s almost like a prompt – like earlier, in the bar. Him telling me Go on, go on and do it

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