*Gina*
Of their own accord, my fingers trace his lips. His warm breath fan over my knuckles, causing an unsettling sensation in the pit of my stomach, then lower still, to an area between my thighs. Once, when I was no more than seven, I had nicked an apple from a vendor's cart. I had run off feeling both satisfied and ashamed. In the end, I hadn't eaten my bounty, but had passed it off to a dirtier urchin. It didn't lessen my guilt. I have never stolen anything since.
But this feels like stealing, these precious moments of caressing a man. How many nights have I gone to sleep, aching to be held, to have my limbs entwined with another's, to touch and be touched ? While I have always pretended that I have no interest in men and wouldn't take kindly to their advances, my actions doesn’t le
