That’s sweet. Nice of you.” Johnson put his hands in his pockets. Dove couldn’t help but wonder if he was massaging a sore bag of testicles. Dove looked around, and Johnson shuffled his feet. It seemed neither knew what to say, but she hoped neither wanted to part ways either. Johnson’s default was always medical. “How’s your infection?” Die. Die. Kill me. “It’s… cleared up… nicely.” Dove twisted her hand into her hair.

Dove tried to take her mind away from his man meat, but it was like her brain was paralyzed by dick osmosis. Johnson’s feet were big, which meant…He has a monster cock.

Dove sat between his legs for a few more seconds, trying to come up with any feasible reason she could stay there. I want to sniff his balls. Just once.

I don’t think one stalker is allowed to call another stalker a stalker.

He apologized profusely. “I knew that frog position was too freaky. I’m sorry.” “It’s not that, Johnson. Did you notice that like every third thrust I was like a virgin? That was my asshole.” Dove put a hand on his shoulder.

Dove held out a hand to Johnson, and he took it—not because they were fleeing a fire and not because she was holding a million dollars. He took her hand to wrap his fingers around hers. His long, long fingers. Her knees went a little watery. Johnson placed a hand on her lower back to steady her. Her ass went a little watery. The trip up her stairs took longer than Ulysses on his epic journey. Johnson took the keys from her hand and opened her door.

Kisses that danced with smiles tasted amazing.

He shrugged and laughed a little. “It was a stupid idea. Who takes a girl to a funeral as their first date?” Dove fought through her gown so she could find his hand and hold it. She wanted to lick it, too, but restrained herself. “You do. It would be my honor to go to this old fart’s funeral with you. Except pretend I said that like a person with a heart.

Me, too.” Dove looked at him and smiled. Johnson missed his mouth when he went for a sip of wine, so Dove passed him her napkin. He began to blush, stammering, “Sorry, your smile made me forget where my intake orifice was.” All my orifices know where you are—especially the ones that grow hair.