Category: Whitney Barbetti

Whitney Barbetti

He held me as if my bones were made of glass, as if my skin would tear beneath his lips if he applied too much pressure. When his lips pressed against the pulse at the base of my throat, I wondered if he could feel the power in my pulse, the power he was solely responsible for. As if in answer, his hand moved from my neck to my chest, resting over the space that contained my heart. There was something beautiful and intentional about that gesture, like he was acknowledging the mortal part of me that reacted so restlessly to his touch.

Whitney Barbetti

I plucked one plump black olive from the plate and put it in my mouth immediately before saying, “Well, I feel bad for you, then.”“Why’s that?”“Because I love antipasto.”“I guess I don’t understand why that’s a problem.”“Because,” I emphasized, cutting into a piece of salmon. “I don’t like to share.” I quickly slipped the smoked meat in my mouth before winking at him. His smile finally met his eyes again. “Good to know, because I’m not the sharing kind of guy either.” He winked back at me, but it was so blatantly comical that I couldn’t help the laugh that flew out of my mouth. “Something tells me you’re not talking about cured meats,” I said before slapping his hand away from my olives. “I knew you were smart.”I swallowed the olive I’d snatched from his hand and glared at him, while mouthing, “Mine.”“Funny, that’s what I was thinking, too,” he said, looking directly at me.

Whitney Barbetti

This doesn’t have to be anything more than what we want, Andra. We don’t need to define this. You are warm, honest, beautiful, and full of wit. I appreciate how vibrant you are, and how you challenge me. I want to spend time with you simply because I enjoy being around you.” I heard his sigh. “I don’t want to suffocate you. No labels, no drama. Just fun. Maybe a kiss or two.”“Or three. Or four,” I added.