More tension to stick in the trick bag and just dunk my head in, holding my hair, nails teasing the back of my skin.
It was as of Jamie was the Willy Wonka behind the Willy Wonka. As if I was being led and fed with candy from the hands of a man who was another man.
It always amused me how sometimes Jamie would sit after recording on the sofa and just stare at me in silence, focused, not moving, breathing harder, most likely battling the imagery in head and knowing that despite what he wants, I won’t just go over and unzip his jeans prior to going on top of him and saying how hard he is.
