The feeling in my chest—the proclamation of love—wants to bubble to the surface, but I fight my way through, biting her shoulder, letting her nails claw down my back, and instead saying things like, “I love how well you take me, baby,” and, “I love fucking you.” One crude word away from the truth. I’ve never had someone who makes me feel wanted. Who loves as deeply as Wendy does. Who I can be myself with—terrible conversationalist and all. Because when talk is truly needed, I provide. “Don’t be shy,” I grunt. “Moan for me, Little Bird.” “Baby,” she whines. “There we go.”
Oooh boy is GONE gone
