It’s dark in our room. The time is probably around 3am. I’d been working until midnight while he was out drinking with friends.
He pulls me into his chest; for a moment, our bodies are locked in the same motion as his chest rises and falls.
Then his lips are on mine, warm and soft. I don’t kiss him back much, I want to make him work for it this time.
In the dark, all I can see is his silhouette, eclipsing the vapid late-night television show playing in the background. I think it was Family Guy. My body tingles as he kisses my neck.
‘I want to lick your arsehole’, he says.
I smile and giggle, trying to hide the hint of nervousness coursing through me.
‘Do you want me to?’
‘Yes.’
‘Say it, beg me to.’
‘Please lick my arsehole.’
‘You want me to spit on it, baby?’
‘Yes,’
‘Well, beg me then.’
‘Please spit on my arsehole.’