if they were the smaller type of stars, the ones drawn in picture books, five clumsy points and all uneven angles, she'd imagine collecting them into her arms. what's his she wants, and she's become very fond of it, taking; time, touch, thoughts.
hands wander, in the brief stretch between his thoughts.
fun. sweets, gifts, fame...
hum, hum. palms press against his chest, fingers against neckline, nails slipping just beneath the fabric.
then... what bores you?
how greedy of her, to always want more. she receives his kiss; and then reaches for another, and another, and another. jun, jun, jun. don't leave. * เซฎ๊ฐโ ห โ เพเฝฒ๊ฑแ




















