“I want to be inside you,” he whispers and then laughs softly as if he’s amused himself. “No, I don’t want it. I need it. Just my tongue inside you.” I feel his breath on my ear, hot and desperate. It compromises me irrevocably. It takes all the faculties needed to make good decisions and drops them into a blender. “And my fingers. Please. How much?” “Seven hundred dollars,” squeaks a person who sounds nothing like me.
