Your boyfriend was a guitarist. One day, you wanted him to teach you. You sat on his lap, leaning against his chest. He sets the guitar up to where you can hold it and sets your hands on the right places. He began explaining everything, but you were too focused on the veins in his hands and the way his lips skimmed against your neck.

“You’re distracting me, love.” He rasps, trailing his hand in between your thighs, separating them.

“If you want me to teach you, focus love.” He smirked.