“Someone will. You go to college, don’t you? Some guy will say that to you. He’ll say it better. He’ll even write you poetry or something. Or whatever the fuck kids are doing these days.” I don’t want someone to say that to me. I want him. I want his words. His poetry. His growls and his hands. I want his hands on me. The ones that are still fisted and digging into his thighs like the words he just uttered about college were some of the most painful ones he ever had.
