WEEK 44: Kill me now

Prompted by: Tiara Giles

The crazy author says: I’ve lost my edge, y’all. I’ve gone cute and sappy and sweet like an overdose of Cadbury Mini Eggs (which I freakin’ luuurve, btw!)

When he doesn’t reply, I give Goldilocks a second tug before releasing the sun-spun strands and sliding off my stool. As my spiked stilettos hit the ground, he still hasn’t moved a muscle. Which is a real shame since he has plenty to choose from.

“I’m leaving,” I say. “Are you coming with?”

He appears to have turned to stone. In fact, I’m convinced he’s stopped breathing entirely. Makes perfect sense. Gargoyles don’t tend to breathe while in stone form.

Okay, maybe he’s not rock-solid everywhere.

Our legs are touching ever-so-slightly and the way his completely yield to mine reaffirms they won’t be saving him if his arms give way. No doubt his sexy ass would wind up on the floor in a jiffy.

I try again with a glib, “Need help?”

That snaps him out of his stupor. Instantly. He shakes his head and growls, “Hell, no.”

“You sure? I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

I watch as he begins his descent, reversing the climb with ease and returning to his chair without a hitch. Not so much as a wobble.

Safely settled in his seat, he cups one knee and pulls a simple, loosely laced converse sneaker onto the footplate. Then does a repeat on the other side and readjusts both knees with his hands. He spends the most time on this part and there’s a slight frown on his lips as if he can’t seem to get them situated quite right.

Interesting.

Finally satisfied, he runs his palms over his thighs. Smoothing the tattered denim, he mutters quietly, “And I do mind.”

Very interesting.

I want to know why that is. Later. For now, I’m moving on to more urgent matters, “So, where are we going?”

“No idea,” he admits, laughing. “Didn’t think you’d say yes.”

“Hmm. How about a dance while we figure it out?”

He glances up with a wry grin, bringing those delicious dimples back to life. “I don’t dance.”

“Bet I can convince you otherwise.”

“Bet you can’t.”

Too easy.

Bending down, I inhale the intoxicating scent of musk and man, and purr my dirty little secret weapon into his ear, “I’m not wearing any panties.”

“Fuck,” he groans against my shoulder.

I straighten and turn to walk away as his words trail right behind me…

“Just kill me now.”

What’s the prompt for next week, guys?

Make suggestions below. 7 words or less.