“Gotta go.” The mood of the room changed. The sluggish, warm feel of post-really-freaking-great-coitus shimmered to nothing as something heavier started seeping in. “Go?” she asked. God, she could unravel him with a syllable. So, yeah. That was right. Go. He had to go. And do it before he smelled more of her. Heard more of that voice any way it came at him—the way it was before and for certain the way it sounded just then with hurt trembling through it.
Ouch
