He slaps Yasmen’s ass when he walks by, and the casual intimacy of it creates a tiny ache in my heart. When was the last time someone slapped my ass like that? Not in a gropey, creepy way like sneaking a feel in a crowded club, but with a possessive familiarity? A sureness that his touch would be welcome because there’s no place on me that doesn’t feel like his and there’s no place on him that doesn’t feel like mine?
Wow. Kennedy Ryan, the woman, the writer, the intimacy maker you are!
