return moments later with a warm damp cloth. June is sitting up, her knees now pressed together, lips trembling. “I’m okay, Brant,” she tells me as I approach. “I’m fine.” “You’re not okay. God, I wrecked you…” Falling to my knees in front of her, I use one hand to gently part her legs. I swallow. “I’m sorry.” “Please…don’t be sorry. I wanted it as much as you did.” As her thighs spread before me, revealing the evidence of my crime, my ribs ache with the weight of my grief. “I wasn’t gentle. I wasn’t kind.” I dab the damp cloth to her juncture, wincing when she hisses again. “I did this to
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