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It must be tiresome, being a decent person, and I can’t relate. I revel in my moral flexibility.
“Sometimes it’s just a gut feeling. Something that grabs you by the stomach and doesn’t let go, not ever. World-shaking, yes, but also just…there. New, but timeless.” “That’s how you felt? With your mate?” This time he turns to look at me. I don’t know why it takes him so long to produce that simple: “Yeah.”
“My smell. Do I smell like…?” “Mine.” It’s a rumble in his throat. “You smell like you’re mine, Misery.”
He’s been picturing her during her baths. He’s been having filthy, unspeakable thoughts. He’s too tired to keep them at bay.
I want to climb under his skin. I want him to slide under mine. I want to give him every last thing he asks for.
“Of all the good things.” He grasps my hips as I roll them into his. “Of all the good things I’ve felt in my fucking life, you are the best.”