He was everywhere. He touched my skin with tender gentleness, one place at a time, but it felt like he was everywhere. He had squeezed himself in betw...en my legs and covered my upper body with his chest. Our lips were locked in a kiss, but his hands were drawing light circles on my skin — tracing my flesh from my eyes, cheeks and chin, down to my hips and thighs. He continued to coax sounds from my throat, some soft and high-pitched, others growling low like thunder. He kept quiet, making me. I wished he wasn’t such a great guy, wanting to help out all his friends. I wished I were breaking up with him because he hit me, or cheated on me, or better yet, because I didn’t love him. It was the opposite. I loved him all too much. I was only breaking up with him because he was such a nice guy, and while helping out his buddies, I was left with the scraps of time and energy he could give me. And why could I hate him for being a good guy? Who was left to hate? Our friends? I entertained a. More

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