The Bedding
The Bedding
the bedding
Prince Brat ran his tongue over the whipping boy’s ear lobe. “You taste scared,” he said, satisfied, and Jemmy-From-the-Streets could not deny the poetic nature of the statement.
“But I’m not,” Jemmy spat, cursing himself inwardly for ruining Horace’s wickedly brilliant observation.
“You aren’t, hmm,” Horace shrugged, in a tone reminiscent of an adult finding a child to be stupidly sweet.
“I’m not!” shot Jemmy, and shifted hard, making Prince Brat fall a little to the side.
Horace found his bearing again, and smirked. “No matter what, you can’t go far and you know it.”
Jemmy sank into the bedding.