Ella
I eat alone.
Buzzing from the single best orgasm—orgasmsbecause there was more than one—of my life, I sit at my favorite Korean joint, savoring kimchi that tastes like the best food I have ever put in my mouth.
Terrified of details, I never asked Knox for his name, for what he did or who he was. Never shared many of my own details, either. Details get you hurt. People who know your details know how to hurt you best. I protect my details.
After ten seconds of being near Knox, I felt like I knew all the details that mattered. And he knew mine.
I didn't need details to know I wanted him. Right there in my spot at the park, just as I had imagined it. My details disagreed though. Once I mentioned not being that girl, although his touch pressing inside me said otherwise, Knox's details didn't need to be said. He was that kind of guy.
One driven by something other than romance or love. Who touched and tasted in small bites, never enough to fill him up but enough to sate his needs. I was starved for more. Would never be sated with just one taste.
Life, to me, was a Goddamn buffet you ought to take a few trips to. Smirking at my ridiculous analogy—no doubt brought on by the banchan of Korean treats before me, I took a voracious bite.
Smiling like the cat that ate the cream, I wonder about those photos I took this morning with his phone. Feeling brave, I'd copied a few of my favorite poses of his from the many choices in his albums. Figured it was only fair, I used one of them for my own pleasure.
Perhaps he might enjoy a taste of his own just desserts.
The very idea of it makes me positively ravenous.
