Companion To Paris
Sorry yes ....

There was no thought of turning towards 'it' as Biema crouched and kissed her lips. Not because it's too plain, but because it was only last night that they did it. Especially now it is still afternoon. The sky is not dark. Tends to be very bright. But Biema wants to do it again. Nowow.

"This ... It's not dark yet" said Paris plain.

"Doing it doesn't have to be in the dark, Paris ...," Biema said slowly trying to provide understanding. Paris straightened out the view. Right towards the chest of the field that is still wrapped in the shirt.

"really?" tanya Paris frowned.

"You're refusing?" tanya Biema seemed to corner Paris. This girl did not answer. He doubted. "I came home because of that. Can't you?" pinta Biema pleaded. This guy's addicted.

"I ... " said Paris. So soft that Biema's sense of hearing could not reach him.

"What?"

"I'm still ... sick," Paris repeated. Now Biema can hear what this girl is saying. But it made her forehead wrinkle.

"ill? It's not like you said your waist would heal fast." Paris. Biema doesn't understand what he's saying.

"Not the waist," protested Paris.

"Then what?" biema asked gently while bringing the ear closer to the lips of this girl. He wanted to know more clearly what Paris was saying. This girl is grieving in heart. Not angry, but ashamed. He thinks what he's saying now is very sensitive. But he had to answer because this man was asking.

Paris deliberately stuck his neck up to make Biema can hear what he said, even though his voice was very soft.

"It still hurts. Below ..." whispered Paris who immediately made the earlobes to the neck reddened in shame. Biema. He remained silent for a moment with a hug on his wife's body.

"That?" reload Biema with code.

"Yes. That," said Paris assented. This guy is starting to understand what he is talking about. Biema. His eyes stared at the pantry ceiling. This guy is thinking.

"So now it can't, yeah ...," he said disappointedly. Very clear on his face. Paris nodded slowly. "alright. I really want it, but if it hurts you I don't want it." Biema made a decision.

"Related?" ask Paris.

"No. I'm not sure. I'm just trying to hold on" Biema replied honestly. Paris hugged Biema's body tightly.

"Sorry, yes ..."

"Yes. I get it." Biema welcomed the hug with her own painful center. "I have to take a cold shower immediately."

"Oh, okay." Paris took off her embrace. Biema stepped into the room. "My room was cleaned. Don't sleep in your room again tonight" Biema said with a smile.

"Yes. I know."

"Oh, yes ... The laundry already took the dirty bed linen and bed cover?" tanya Biema who stopped going into the room.

"Not yet." Teetz! The apartment bell rings. Paris moved closer to the door. Apparently the officer from the tattooing side.

"Who?" ask Biema who did not go into the room because she was waiting for Paris to finish meeting the person in front.

"Lundry officer." Paris took the bag of dirty laundry and handed it to the officer.

"Quick close the door" Biema ordered.

After seeing Paris close the door, Biema entered the room. Paris to the pantry. Take out the groceries from the crackle. Broccoli, carrots and some frozen foods like meatballs, frozen chicken, chicken nuggets and sausages. All of that is specifically for Paris who are less adept at cooking.

All of them have not been put in the refrigerator. Still lined up on the pantry table. Paris was about to transport frozen food when her eyeballs tethered to Biema.

After a few minutes in the room, he came out again with a towel wrapped around his waist.

Paris swallowed her own saliva looking at her husband's nice body.

I don't think that nice body is mine. Paris blinked his eyes over and over again because he was stunned. Biema. He knew this girl was observing his body. Paris then turned her body. Trying to avoid the nice plain body that just flashed.

"Oh, yes Paris ..." Suddenly Biema turned her legs towards the pantry. Paris who already thought this man would enter the bathroom was shocked. His body turned to look at Biema. That's when his eyeballs were rounded like a puffer fish. Then his heart beat sounded louder. Paris thumping.

"Y-yes. What's up?" ask Paris nervously.

"Would you like to cook?" asked Biema who turned out to be only a few meters away from him. This man did not approach as he had when he hugged Paris' body. Biema was still standing a certain distance until the body was exposed. From top to bottom.

"E .. t-no, but ... Just frying some nuggets for a snack, maybe," said Paris, who suddenly wanted to have a long conversation with Biema. He deliberately said he wanted to fry a nugget. Since then, he just wants to clean up the groceries and relax.

"Nuggets? Not from a sea fish, right?" ask Biema who is so careful about seafood. This man is allergic to sea fish.

"Ec ... That ... " Paris is doubtful. Finally he grabbed the frozen food packaging that was wet because the ice was melting. Quickly read the materials used to make nuggets. "No. Not the sea fish. It's pure chicken" Paris said after reading it.

"Then I like it too." Biema smile. Paris smiled with her eyes confused.

His eyeballs did not stop staring at half the body of the field that was only covered in a towel wrapped around his waist. Especially when the winding of the towel looks loose that seems to be about to sag perfectly. Paris suddenly did not feel at home to not see it. But he had to look the other way when Biema was looking at him. Biema's lips smiled looking at that.

"Emm... Can you make me avocado juice?" pinta Biema soft.

"We don't have any more avocados. I'm all done eating." Paris remembered the last fruit he had made. Due to the shocking appearance of Biema Lei earlier, Paris failed to shop for any fruit. "

"That's so ..."

"I can make you another cold drink. Cold chocolate?" the next Paris.

It's still like that. Actually Paris can stop the chatter so that he avoids the soul-stirring scene. But he felt like talking for a long time. He was not willing if Biema stopped the conversation.

"Can." Biema agrees. Paris lit the stove to cook water. He needed warm water to dissolve the chocolate powder. Biema was approaching. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"No. I can make it myself" said Paris as she turned her body to face Biema. At that time the view of Paris was directed to the towel wrapped around with the style of it. Someone's popping up there. Paris gulps.

Whatisit? his hissing in heart.

Why am I this? Why does that make me nervous and anxious? ask Paris confused in heart.

A type of morphine, nicotine, or, Street Methadone that ranks high in psychological and physical dependence. Paris needs a touch. He wants to touch and be touched.

I'm sure I'm crazy now.