I Didn’t Care Why She’d had a Xylophone Glued to her Head
Between every single smooch I was sopping up sweat- Jeepers creepers!
- the standard inking method
- enters her wedding night tongue-tied
- weirdly pleasing metallic smell
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I didn’t care why she’d had a xylophone glued to her head. Simply knowing that Tessa was an ultra-secret spy was a total turn-on. I leaned over and kissed her, hard, on the mouth. The pickle brine on her tongue made my eyes sting, and her kisses raised my body heat. Between every single smooch I was sopping up sweat with the tablecloth, but I kept going back for more.
“Jeepers creepers!” Tessa cried. “You’re going to drown us both!”
“I’ll be dehydrated soon,” I murmured, in what I hoped was a seductive voice. I must have been wrong because Tessa immediately started talking about tattoos again, and how the standard inking method wouldn’t work if she used the pickle skewer, but she was willing to improvise.
“Tessa, no. No improvisation. No tattoos.”
“You’re acting like some blushing bride who enters her wedding night tongue-tied and scandalized, but I know you. You’re a man of the world. You’re the sort of man whose copious sweat has a weirdly pleasing metallic smell. The kind of man who is up for anything. The kind of man who–”
She was interrupted by a deep voice booming from the depths of the pickle chapel. “The kind of man who’s about to get his ass kicked.”
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