All Chapters of Foster: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

I would never have accounted for the feeling of having my neck kissed being so glorious. Not even in a million years would I have truly known it would feel so provocative and intimate. Yet that's how I've come to know that he is. Provocative. Intimate. I feel like nobody else when I'm in his arms; and I've only been in his arms in this way for a hot minute. Even before, when he held me as a child and a teenager, I've felt this way. I've felt like he'd never hold anybody the way he held and holds me. I've felt as if his grip is strong and endearing just for me. Everything he does is just for me. But it isn't — that's just how I feel. And things that I feel do tend to be in the habbit of being far from the truth. 

"We had sex last night..." She probably already knows this is coming. She's a smart girl, just like she's so many other things, "and we should talk about it," I wait for her to speak. It feels as if I'm waiting for a lifetime — and she does many other things than speak. She sits up. She tugs the blankets up into her lap. She brushes a frame of hair away from her face with a pausing movement. She's skirting around the issue, I would assume. I don't blame her, after all, it's exactly what I have been doing all morning long and all day for the past five, perhaps. 

Surprisingly, it's her kiss to increase gently in speed as she lifts herself to her knees and her mouth twists with mine eagerly. But it's my hands to tug her onto my lap where I hold her in place and battle her tender kiss with my own. She's delicate and enticing and private in so many delightful ways — she's just mine, right now, and I'm just hers. The girl's hands are warm as she lifts them to my shoulders and her face rests against my own. In a way, her kiss is rough and desperate, and her hands are packed with a chorus of emoti

"No wonder you dumped me, look how late I am," She says the words with the same dull smile and a flustered tone as she settled. She's almost funny, I'll admit — yet still far from it."You left me, Zoe," I offer her the same dull smile as she finally finds a still position, hopefully, the smile will take the edge off of how passive-aggressive that phrase is. I want it to be aggressive, that's the intent it had when I jammed the words together in my

I've always assumed that hospitals smell bad simply because it's impossible to truly flush out the reeking scent of death; blunt and brutal. In fact, I think the smell never truly leaves. At the end of the day, when the bleach begins to wash away and the air conditioners are eased, the smell can stretch and yawn -- and it has bad breath. Perhaps it's best that death has a pungent smell, perhaps it's just for someone to be aware that a life was lost in the vicinity even if we don't know the person — perhaps its sole purpose is to give life the true value it's stripped of when people kill one another or bludgeon their wives with axes.

. I wish he would, I wish he'd venture further into the shy light of soon-dead lightbulbs so I can fully assess his outfit choice; I mean, I did choose it, anyway... maybe I'd just like to have a good look at him again. "In the bitter winter beneath blankets and with not one single soul for company, wine is my only comfort, my friend," But then I lift the glass from the table again, because he's giving me a stare that's making me feel awkward, and I raise the wine to my lips and take down

And it is hot, I want him to tell me what to do. I want him to boss me around and dominate me, completely. And then he finally does look like he's battling a smile, even just a small one. Still by what I would excuse with wine, I elaborate even more daringly than I assume I normally would, "It's sexy as hell when you're telling me to do as I'm told," In all honesty, I wish he would more often."Just get to bed, Princess," He doesn't fumble with

"How was work?" Sasha waves her fork around as she talks, but only slightly. Much like hers, my own fork is loaded, though my own stomach, not-so-much. It's her elbow against the table top that keeps her fork lifted between us. It takes only a moment to reach between us to promptly shove her elbow away from the surface with a small smile — but I don't need to chastise her, she knows the words; 'Table Manners'. It's a strange thing to tell the girl off for, the fact I've allowed her feet in my lap in mind, because for long minutes, I

It's a strange thing indeed that I can say my daughter's lips taste odd. They taste sweet and raw. It's even odder that I can vouch for just how they feel. They feel soft yet rough in the places she's bitten them, they feel swollen and slick with a mix of her breath and my own. The thought many would call the girl my daughter where I would call her my lover makes my stomach turn but better yet, it excites me. Her love affair is thrilling. She, herself, is irresistible. I'm not too sure ho

She laughs again as her head falls back and her hands flex against my shoulders. It's beyond beautiful, much like she is. Maybe it's the fact her white bra has slipped out from beneath the lifted hem of her shirt from beneath the ageing morning's sun -- maybe it is the fact her groin refuses to lift from my own... Maybe even the tangled mess of her hair and yellowed eyes. "You're angry at me for being prepared for sex -- as I'm sure fathers often are -- yet the man I'm prepared for sex with is my father," Trust me, Sasha, it's a point I've already made to myself. "I've started taking birth control, by the way — just for future reference if we're ever in the position where we're condom-less,"