critical eyes analyze your reflection , your fingertips slipping disdainfully over thecolorful shades blooming along your throat . for his part , kavinsky’s own mirror image sprawls across the bed behind you , proud as a lion . “ ––––– this isn’t funny . how am i supposed to cover these up ? ”
you think he looks good, with the closest thing to rubies, amethysts &emeralds that you’ll ever give him around his neck. ‘ shoulda told me not to do it, if you didn’t want it. ’ you sit up, scooting close enough to the edge of the bed that you can run your own fingertips over parrish’s neck. ‘ i’ll take you to sephora, get some concealer. any shade you want, baby. ’