Her eyes flickered—guilt, then defiance. “Daniel is a friend. He reminds me who I am when I’m not your sugar baby.”
He offered to walk her home. She hesitated, then agreed. On the corner of her street, under a flickering streetlamp, he took a risk. He reached out and gently, with the back of his finger, traced the curve of her lower lip. sugar baby lips
“Someone who is very tired of being a collection,” she whispered. Her eyes flickered—guilt, then defiance
“I’m saying,” he reached out and, for the second time, traced her lower lip with his finger. But this time, he didn’t admire it like a collector. He touched it like a man touching something fragile. “I’m saying I don’t want sugar baby lips. I want yours. Chapped. Bitten. Real.” She hesitated, then agreed
Leo laughed. For the first time in twenty years, he laughed like a boy. He was ruined, and he knew it.
She stepped closer, her bare lips inches from his. Without the gloss, they looked younger, more vulnerable. He could see the fine lines where she chewed the inside of her cheek, the tiny scar from a childhood fall.
“I’m not most people.”