I had a hunch she had the hots for me. A look, a smile. I loved her intensity, her daily black wardrobe, the tattoos and nose ring. There was a vulnerability buried under the surface toughness that I wanted to explore.
One day her motorcycle wouldn't kick over after we left work--she was a computer savant. I offered her a lift home and she nodded silently. My attempts at conversation were met with one word answers.
But when we got to her apartment, my hunch was right. She said one word-- 'upstairs'--and I followed her into her place. Within seconds she was tearing off my clothes and throwing me against a wall. She was an animal devouring me.
Our couplings have maintained that raw passion. Sometimes, when I am a good boy, she lets me trace her dragon tattoo with my finger.
I sense that if I am a bad boy, things will get ugly quick.
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