CEO masher

nigmatic look but at the same time it consumes me and sends me a telepathic message that I want you. Or maybe the message is mine. I'm wanting it. Which is not my fault. It's my body

'm impressed again. It's your father, he should feel something for saying that. For this neglect. If he doesn't feel it, it's because something was wrong. — Aren't they attached? — I dare to ask. Okay, listening to someone's rant wasn't what I had in mind when I decided to leave the house to clear my mind; but, if that's what it has, that's what it will be. — Depends on what you call attachment — he raises his eyebrows and turns his penetrating eyes to me. Maybe it's the contrast of the long eyelashes and thick eyebrows that make her look so striking, but either way, it's a look worthy of all the attention. I divert mine, choosing to drink more lemon water. I feel more grounded doing this than facing him. — He called me to make one last request — Nathan says, not bothering to return to my question about attachment. — He wants to see me married, but, you know, I'm not going to do that shit just because he wants me to. I look at him again. — You seem irritated — I comment. — Is he a rebellious son? He smirks, leaning forward a little. Not much, just to the point of making my breath suspend for a millisecond due to the projection of the almost. It almost reaches me too close. — I'm a good son, my father said so himself — he confides in a low voice. — Were you a good daughter to your parents? It's a really weird question, but if I wanted to know about him, it would be okay to answer that about myself. “Yes,” I say. — I was always a good daughter. My parents don't say that much, considering that it wasn't, and isn't, the easiest thing in the world to pay attention to seven children. But, it's noticeable, I think. That I'm a good daughter, I mean. - Seven? — Nathan whistles. - Cum. This is what it means to enjoy populating the Earth. I laugh. A sincere laugh. Free. Light. And it's the first since I can remember after Jacob. — Yes, seven. I think in the past the pastime was dating. He smiled. — It should be — he agrees. — What's your hobby? — Ah — I say as if it were something banal to respond. — I'm a photographer, so I think this is my hobby: taking photos. — Don't you like anything else? He looks fleetingly interested, which makes me smi