MDNI. 18+
“i’ve heard virgins get wet real quick. is that true?”
his eyes are twin pools of tar, a darkness so profound that you fear if you stare too long, you’ll be pulled beneath the surface, never to find your way back to the light. you drop your gaze to his lips instead—the full, lush red of cherries in late spring.
“…guess there’s only one way to find out,”
the words leave your lips with an airy lightness, intended to sound noncommittal, though they sound anything but, with your pulse hammering erratically against your eardrums. shifting from his haunches, tate rises onto his knees, stance parting wide, and your gaze inevitably drifts to the distinct tent straining against dark denim. he’s hard; violently so. you draw a sharp breath when his palm cup your breast, his fingers flexing in a tentative yet firm squeeze. tate smirks, indentations in his cheeks. for a fleeting moment, you catch a glimpse of the boy you first fell in love with. everything will be okay, won’t it?
