#bin bons

Billy was endeared by the way you were drunk after only three glasses of wine, and a shot of vodka. You pressed against his side on the lift, teetering on your three inch heels, clumsily digging in his coat for the caramel candies you loved, he usually kept some just for you. And giggling when he told you there was a candy tax. “What kind?” You asked.

His mouth turned up, but he never answered, fingers wrapped around your waist. He teased you, and it made you crave him more.

You never found the candy, but maybe Billy would taste sweeter than any candy you could ever have. It made you burn at the thought of having him, even knowing his aversion to commitment. You loved your best friend.

And the smell of cologne teased you as the elevator doors opened, and he pulled you along, his calloused fingers wrapped around yours. A reminder of the marine who had 134 kills under his belt. You wanted to see that marine.

He pulled you into his bedroom, and you stumbled.

You kept trying to kiss him, as he helped you shimmy out of your dress, getting you ready for bed. Your fingers digging into his hair, as you licked into his mouth, eager for him. He tasted better than you imagined. He had seen you undressed before, but fuck, if his mouth didn’t water for a taste of you. For the sweet sounds you'd make. Your taste.

You kissed him again, and he indulged it because he was desperate to be wanted. You pulled on his belt, and he pulled back from your lips, "Not when you're drunk." He groaned with effort.

You whined low, "Wanna make love to you Billy." You said, kissing him again.

The boy who had never been loved burned for you at your words. But the boy who had been sexually taken advantage of, stopped.