WHEN ELLIOT ARRIVED HOME, he found Val on the couch reading. Without a word, he lifted the screen from her hands, took down her pants, and hoisted her hips to the edge of the couch. He persisted over her laughing questions and moved the hands she laid on his head back down to her sides so that his mouth was the only point where he and she joined. He thought of the honey, how it brimmed above the curve of the spoon while still holding its droplet shape. Val didn’t taste like honey of course; she tasted briny and close. He worked at her tenderly, stopping to kiss the folds and scallops of her,
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