It hangs around my neck, the cross burning the delicate, untainted flesh between my breasts.
I am sinner as my eyes roam his body, pure lust filling my every pore.
I am alive. I am free. I am uncharted territory waiting to be explored and ravaged.
Cotton covers pink, but he sees without looking.
And I wait.
Goosebumps rise upon my skin, my hand exposing the cross where it lays dormant and untouched.
Burning.
For him.
Yearning and heaving and pleading for contact.
Anything he is willing to sacrifice for me.
The white band around his neck pulses in tandem with the beat of his heart.
His hands tighten into fists, and his eyes narrow as he turns away.
I am sinner. He is my sin.