Your Mine, Angel. And I Won't Let

Deep, Dark Unearthly Black. I Hadn't Told Anyone Yet, But The Color Kept Streaking Across My Mind At The Oddest Moments. When It Did, My Skin Shivered Pleasantly, And It Was As If I Could Feel The Color Tracing A Finger Tenderly Along My Jaw, Tipping My Chin Up To Face It Directly. I Knew It Was Absurd To Think A Color Would Come To Life, But Once Or Twice, I Was Sure I'd Caught A Flash Of Something More Substantial Behind The Color. A Pair Of Eyes. The Way They Studied Me Cut To The Heart.

First,” He Said, Coming Behind Me And Placing His Hands On The Counter, Just Outside Of Mine, “choose Your Tomato.” He Dipped His Head So His Mouth Was At My Ear. His Breath Was Warm, Tickling My Skin. “good. Now Pick Up The Knife.” “does The Chef Always Stand This Close?” I Asked, Not Sure If I Liked Or Feared The Flutter His Closeness Caused Inside Me. “when He’s Revealing Culinary Secrets, Yes.

I Need To Get Back To Work,” Patch Said. He Gave Me A Once-over That Lingered A Bit Below The Hips. “killer Skirt. Deadly Legs.

My Life Sucks When I’m Only Half-aware Of It. If I Quit Drinking And Saw What It’s Really Like, I’d Probably Jump Off A Bridge.

What I Really Wanted Was The Impossible.