Chapter ElevenKeaton
“Do you want me to take off my glasses?” We’re sprawled across his bed already when the question slips out of me.
Slate doesn’t stop kissing my neck, his lips still brushing the sensitive skin along my jaw as he murmurs, “Why would that matter?”
“I don’t know.” I laugh. “Just wondering what your preference is.”
I remember the college boys who were always preoccupied with whether I wore them during s*x or not. “Don’t they get in the way?” they would ask, as if they were actually concerned with my personal comfort. Or then there were the enthusiasts, adamant that I keep them on the whole time. “You look like a sexy librarian,” they would say, their eyes glazed over in whatever strange fantasy they were enjoying by themselves. Or worse, my ex-boyfriend who thought rem
