“What’s our best chance?” I asked him. August didn’t answer right away. He took a moment to really consider it, which I appreciated. Finally, he said, “If you keep trying to deal with it on your own, you’re going to end up curled in a ball of agony. I’ll keep fighting my instincts, but knowing you’re in pain makes it much harder. We’ll make it a week or two, but I’ll eventually break, and you’ll be so desperate for relief that you’ll beg me to take you.” Despite his words, his voice was neutral. He didn’t seem to want me begging, and he didn’t want to lose control. “What’s the alternative?”
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