I know she heard me because she sways in my grasp, her small fingers burying themselves in my shirt. Her touch is hot, burning through my clothes. My blood rushes too close to the surface, making everything overly sensitive. I’m one curl of her fingers away from tossing her over my shoulder and locking her inside my house for the next four to six business days. Shit, even that may not be enough time. Four to six months, then.
