Forty.

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I think my heart stopped beating for those 12 and half minutes that Axle Kingston was in my bedroom

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I think my heart stopped beating for those 12 and half minutes that Axle Kingston was in my bedroom.

My head felt so spacey as I listened to him tell my father about this girl, but I don't think I heard much of what they said.

My legs felt like jelly. This man knew how to touch me. I felt electrified under his hands. We had a magnetic force, and I adored it. The Redbull I drink paired with Axle Kingston sounds like havoc on my heart rate.

I somehow made my way upstairs and shut the door behind me. I leaned against it, closing my eyes and feeling his hands on my body.

It wasn't very late but I wanted to sleep. I crawled into my bed with my laptop.

'Alita Harolds.'

Her name came up on the covers of a few unheard of, irrelevant magazines. She's blonde, stunning, maybe about 5'8. Deep set blue eyes and a pearly smile. Her hair was a bright yellow and cut into a bob. She's pretty. Merda.

I dug more into her name. She's been on a couple runways. She has modeled for Maybelline. She has no rap sheet, which is good. She's just a regular girl. She wouldn't classify as famous or a star.

I sighed, and admired her beauty. Despite it all she was a beautiful woman, and there was nothing wrong with me admitting that. It's just that the high road isn't always fun sometimes. You have to protect your feelings too. And seeing Axle with another woman, that alone would kill me.

My phone pinged. The screen lit up with a text and Axle's name flashed across the screen.

'http:/howtohidelustfromyourfather/search.'

'you're not funny.' I replied. I grinned at my phone.

'your bra was pink. I liked it. I like red, too.'

'then get yourself a red bra.'

'your lipstick is on my collar.'

'your fingers left marks in my thighs.'

'I have nail marks on my shoulders.'

'stop the foreplay. You're too far away.'

'I'll pick you up. Say the word.'

'I'm not having premarital sex with you, Axle.'

'you'd be so fucking worth the wait.'

'Alita is pretty.'

I regretted sending that, but I never had these experiences as a teenager, texting a boy, that is. So I guess I was making the most of it.

'she's not my type.'

'you don't even know what she looks like.'

'don't need to. I have very specific tastes.'

'oh yeah? What?'

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