tweexcore

paintedfictions:

….“Oh but,” she narrows her eyes and gives him a smile, that smile, that he remembers, that sly flash of teeth and flicker of tongue between her narrow lips—she used to always wear a coat of something, some peach creamy balm on top of them that made them look irresistible, but only when she smiled, for the rest of the time she kept her lips pursed and tight like a frosted fortress, that touch of a tease, “were we ever friends?”

She said friends like a dirty word, an inconceivable crime. Had they been friends? It is possible that he misremembered. He remembers fucking her, quietly, in the morning, when all their friends were still passed out, asleep around whichever East Village apartment, her soft whimpers and how perfect her hipbones were to grip, and how one night, breathless and giggling at a corner table at an expensive hotel bar she had begged him to kiss her and do no more, but then later she was the one who pressed against him, hungry hands grappling at his belt buckle.…