“I’m older than you,” she let slither from her lips, her body pivoting on her hip without losing contact with mine, her far knee raised— brought near— and clearing my legs; a side-by-side sit transformed into a straddle, with her arms slung around my neck— wrists crossed at the start of my spine— and weight now pressing into my lap. “But not by much,” she snickered, a flip of her neck neatly swinging the hair threatening to cover her face to one side.

“Why are you bringing it up?” I asked, hands now cradling her ass, the pull firm and the squeeze forceful enough to sink in through the jeans that clung with no space between fabric and skin. “Are you interested in splitting hairs?”

And as she leaned in, she let the hair spill off the side of her head, her eyes wide and bright, she brought her lips to mine and they touched as she breathed her answer.

“No.”

With the drawing of breath she pressed full against them, mouth opening and tongue sharply jabbing, fending off my side of the kiss until she jawed her mouth open wider and held my lower lip between her teeth.

I felt the pain flare from dull to sharp— a stinging moment fading just as quickly as it arrived— as she let my lip go to whisper:

“But I get to fuck a younger man right now and don’t take that away from me.”