The different flavours of friendship
I love his hands, elegant and strong, the hands of a pianist. I love the way they feel on my skin, the way he cradles my face before he takes that first kiss. His hands might have been the thing surprising me the most that first time he kissed me - not his mouth, not those beautiful lips, not that addictive taste. Though his mouth was nothing to sneer at. Patrick knew how to kiss. I watched him practice with a wide range of women over the years, and teased him mercilessly about it. But that...
Cheating