

The young man wrinkled his nose, breathing, and smacked his lips .
He approached the mirror looking at his skinny reflection and unkempt hair over his forehead.
He was tired. His muscles and his mind begging for mercy .
Knotting the refined tie, he looked down at the crumpled pants and let out a small smile.
"Did you sleep well?" He asked, then, to no one in particular.
Behind him, between the crisp sheets, someone moaned.
"Beautifully," replied a girl lying on the bed, covering herself and toying with her hair.
"Good. So see you ... "
The girl nodded, her eyes rapt from his expression, which she was so deliciously accustomed.
"I'll wait tonight with a bottle of wine, dude."
"Count on it. We have to celebrate and I demand a present. "
The girl raised an eyebrow, biting her cheek to keep from smiling.
"The brithday would be mine, gifts belong to me. And do not tell me that you... "
But the lips of Killian Jones, soft, thin and decided, were faster.
They came upon the girl, in a passionate kiss that quashed any glimmer of protest.
"Your gift is me, for now."
The sheets slid; the time slipped like the reason.
...
Ari jumped on her seat, cursing softly.
The damn bus must have stumbled into a ditch, or something else.
And she must have fallen asleep against the window, judging by the unseemly trickle of saliva that warned the corner of her mouth.
She threw some abuses mentally at the driver for interrupting her dream and then went back into her reverie...
"Ahh.. Killian Jones, you'll be the death of me one day!"

Don't kill us Ari. We had to give the other an idea about how much of a pervert you are, no?
We wish this insane Book-aholic and X-Rated dreamer a very Happy Birthday!

We love you girl! Don't believe us? Scroll down!







