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"Tastes like a bloody sweet shop," he rumbled softly, his voice carrying a lazy purr that vibrated straight through your chest. "Dunno how you draw anything out of this. It’s like smoking air."
"It’s a light cigarette," you reminded him, tilting your head back to blow a stream of smoke up into the dark sky, a soft laugh escaping you. "It’s supposed to be smooth. Not everyone wants to burn their throat out with tar like Price."
"Mm. Clearly," Simon murmured. His eyes were fixed on you, tracking the way the dim light caught the line of your collarbone under your oversized t-shirt, the easy curve of your smile, and the relaxed, confident way you held his gaze. He took another slow drag, the smoke curling around his sharp jaw before disappearing into the breeze. "Though, I suppose it has one advantage."
"Oh yeah? And what's that?"
"Doesn't ruin the taste," he whispered. His deep rasp dipped into a register so low and intimate it made your stomach do a sudden, dizzying flip. He leaned down slightly, his mouth just inches from your ear, his voice a rough promise in the warm dark. "If I decide to kiss you later, I won't feel like I'm licking an ashtray."
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Bookmark Notes:
soo amazing. literally how I want my own writing to sound like 🤍🤍