I Should've Told Him.

I should’ve told him. I woke up next to his bare muscular body feeling nervous; elated, satisfied and totally confused of my emotions and it scared me shitless. This was not supposed to have happened. This was not supposed to have felt this damn good. This was not supposed to have me wanting more.

There had been drinking. Plenty of it. But it was when I touched him. It was that first contact in a dimly lit bar, as I spewed words of tipsy flirtation into his ear. I touched him and there was immediate electricity; spontaneous bolts shot from my fingers to his denim protected knee. It was intense and while I put up the façade of being un-phased by his dominant energy, I knew he felt that shit too. It was at that moment I knew I couldn’t do it. I knew I couldn’t detach my body from my heart. That immediate connection; that instantaneous chemical reaction hadn’t happened in a very long time; not since...

I should’ve backed away right then and there. Sitting beside him on a barstool, gently caressing his pain away as electricity moved through my body, I should’ve told him. This friendship would definitely be beneficial. The energy between us spoke that loud and clear and it would be proven later that night. But it would never be superficial. It could never be without feeling because I was already feeling him at that very moment. And that feeling; that intensity and heat turned into a night of our bodies intertwined while orgasms were released.

I should’ve told him. When my leg began to shake and my pussy began to ache as my hand massaged his muscular thighs, I briefly closed my eyes and I knew. I should’ve told him. I would want him. I would love him. I would feel him always.

But I didn’t.

Model @curvycampbell