Sybil Bartel

As if knowing I wouldn’t do it on my own, his knuckle caught my chin and he tipped my face up. “Please,” he quietly begged. “Forgive me.”

Voice innocent, body submissive, mouth like a porn star, she was a walking contradiction,

“You don’t like the way I kiss?”
“Don’t fuck with me,” I warned, still holding on to her. “That’s not what I said.