My Lips are the Gun
Snatching moments together
A stupid meme had made me smile before my return home. I was going to spring it on her. The exact kind of sincere cheesiness she’d come to expect from me.
My lips are the gun. My smile is the trigger. My kisses are the bullets. They call me a killer.
Even I was smirking at my own ridiculousness as I pushed the key and turned and entered our temporary sanctuary.
“Babee.” I called. Nothing, as I slipped off my purse and set it on the side table, shucked and hung my coat.
Oh. Snap. I caught two taps of her heels before a frankly pitiful spank on my right ass cheek.
“Tag, you are IT!” I turned my head, in exaggerated slowness, amused at how pleased she was with her little ambush, scampering away with a giggle.
I grabbed both ends of my scarf and threw it over my head onto the hook with my jacket.
“Oh, right. That’s how it is, huh?” I lifted one toe and pushed down the back strap of the other heel, shifted and repeated, then kicked both velvet pumps off with a clatter across the hardwood floor. I heard one of the cats, who came with the house we were sitting, scatter in excited panic. They knew how this was going to play.
