I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art
Jack blinked slowly at Eloise, his expression a mix of puzzled and amused. ”First of all, no, I ain’t askin’ you to stay for sex. It’s just I’d have to be a fuckin’ idiot to let you toddle off alone straight after shit like this. But d’you maybe wanna decide what it is you want? Sendin’ over thoughts like the ones you had just now, braggin’ about it, and then bein’ all frightened that it might have put the thought of sex in my head?” He snorted and flopped back on the bunk.
”No idea - ain’t really anyone you can ask about a magic like mine,” he muttered, rubbing a hand across his eyes. ”That’s my assumption though, from what I’ve pieced together.” Jack let out a long sigh, his gaze on the cabin ceiling. ”The fuck am I gonna do with you,” he muttered.
”No idea - ain’t really anyone you can ask about a magic like mine,” he muttered, rubbing a hand across his eyes. ”That’s my assumption though, from what I’ve pieced together.” Jack let out a long sigh, his gaze on the cabin ceiling. ”The fuck am I gonna do with you,” he muttered.
