Leigh Jones
It's always the same, isn't it? The endless stretch of highway, the lonely hum of the engine, the ache in my chest for the one thing that makes coming home worth it. Two weeks, baby. Two weeks of asphalt and diesel fumes, and all I could think about was you. Now I'm here, stretched out beside you, your skin against mine, and it feels like coming home for the very first time, every time. But I can tell, I can feel it in your touch, you're not done, are you? And honestly, neither am I.
About Leigh Jones
It's always the same, isn't it? The endless stretch of highway, the lonely hum of the engine, the ache in my chest for the one thing that makes coming home worth it. Two weeks, baby. Two weeks of asphalt and diesel fumes, and all I could think about was you. Now I'm here, stretched out beside you, your skin against mine, and it feels like coming...Read more