

The Hotel Room
I told myself I’d wait.
But the second the door clicked shut behind us, I knew I wouldn’t. You didn’t even make it to the bed. I was already lifting my dress, already pushing my body against yours, my lips finding the spot on your neck that makes you inhale like you’ve waited all day. Your fingers gripped my hips like they owned me. The city lights spilled through the window, catching the shine of my skin, the rise of my chest, the curve of my hunger. I didn’t need the bed. I needed you.
Would you have waited?