TIES THAT BIND

as she loudly packs her bags. She can't do anything without adding some theatrics to it. Her bathroom door slaps the wall as she flings it open, a large toiletry bag

we get to Manhattan. Sentimental shit or whatever. You can leave whatever you want here, to give to your friends or keep for whenever you visit. Truthfully, I don't give a fuck what you do with it. And then we're going to leave here. We have a few places we need to be today; you can tell your friends you'll have a goodbye dinner with them or fuck, even breakfast with them tomorrow, and then we're getting on the jet tomorrow afternoon. Understood?" I feel her angry sigh against my palm. Her breath is hot against my skin. My mind can't help but wonder what her breath would feel up against far more intimate parts of me. My cock stirs in my suit pants at the idea. I remove my palm from her lips. "And for the record, you could wear a paper bag and impress anyone." Margo places her small hands on my chest and pushes against me with an angry groan. I smile, letting her push me a few feet away from her even though I was having fun unnerving her a little with my close proximity. She may think she's playing it cool, but I could feel the warmth from the rush of blood in her cheeks. I felt every sharp intake of breath against my palm and could see the curious desire in her eyes. Shocking me, instead of arguing, Margo turns around and begins to rifle through her closet once again. Bored of just sitting on her bed and looking at work emails, I walk around her small room, itching to find out more about her just by what's in here. I'm busy looking at a bunch of polaroid pictures she has taped to a floor length mirror when she speaks up from behind me. "Just for the record"-she mocks the tone I just used-"I'm going to spend so much of your money on new clothes." "Wouldn't expect anything else." I smile, reaching to grab a picture of Margo with a huge slice of pizza next to her face. The giant thin slice with large, round pepperonis is instantly recognizable as a New York style pizza. The sweatshirt she wears with large NYU letters on the front also clues me in to the fact that this must be from her college days. I pull it away from the mirror, and there's a ripping sound as the tape comes off the glass. Holding the picture in front of me, I let my eyes roam over her face. She looks so happy, completely carefree. Her hair seems to be a few inches shorter than it is now. It must be from her early college days. It'd been about the same length it is now when I'd first met her in The Hamptons. She stares right at the camera, her mouth slightly open li