Dirty by Megan Hart
This is what happened…
I met him at the treat store.
He turned and grinned at me and I was sufficiently astounded to grin back. This was not a youngsters’ treat store, mind you this was the sort of place you went to purchase costly transported in chocolate truffles for your manager’s significant other on the grounds that you felt regretful for engaging in sexual relations with him when you were both at a gathering in Milwaukee.
I’ve been hit on a lot of times, generally by men with little artfulness who thought what was between their legs compensated for what they needed between their ears.
Once in a while I ran home with them in any case, since it felt great to need and be needed, regardless of the possibility that it was for the most part fake.
The issue with needing is that it resembles emptying water into a vase brimming with stones. It tops you off before you know it, ruling out whatever else. I don’t apologize for my identity or what I’ve done in or out of bed.
I have my occupation, my home and my life, and for quite a while I haven’t needed whatever else.
Until Dan. Up to this point.