I want more sensation. More pleasure than pain. I want this to be a prelude more than anything, but I can’t find the words. How do you form words for something you can’t comprehend? Instead, I fall back on what I know works for us as I turn and press my aching breasts against the marble. Lowering my head, I stretch my arms out in front of me like a supplicant. Or someone who’d just offered herself on a platter as I whisper, “Please, Daddy. I need you.”
