Lord Disick and I would be best friends
She hears his car outside, pulling into the motel parking lot. Hears the engine shut off, then the car door slam, his wingtips scraping the asphalt as he approaches the motel room door. Her pulse is quickening, her heart pounding now inside her chest, her fingers twitching against her skin, her legs rubbing tightly together with subtle, shimmery sounds as her stockings slide against each other. She knows it's all wrong. Knows they should stop meeting here like this. But by God, she loves it...
“I can’t think of any greater happiness than to be with you all the time, without interruption, endlessly, even though I feel that here in this world there’s no undisturbed place for our love, neither in the village nor anywhere else; and I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more.” — Franz Kafka