...Right or wrong/ Don't it turn you on/ Can't you see we're wastin' time, yeah....
Arms come from behind me, locking my elbows to my ribcage. My forearms flap uselessly, like Allosaurus arms. I am in a parking lot, after ten PM. I was asking for this, I guess, by lingering instead of getting directly into my vehicle.
I know my attacker, too. The Prince has had several beers in honor of Coco's birthday, and is in a playful mood.
If you grab me like that, you know you have to bite my neck.
"Ah, is that the rule?" As if he didn't know. I tilt my head to the right, exposing, waiting.
He hesitates. I feel the tension in his body as he makes a decision, feel his breath a moment before his teeth connect with flesh and tendon. And though I was expecting it, demanded it, my skin prickles and my knees buckle. His arms prevent me hitting the pavement, then he loosens his grip so that I can turn and hug him fiercely round the waist.
It's a good thing Hawk's coming home tonight.
(Do You Wanna Touch; Joan Jett and the Blackhearts)