When I withdraw from her I am panting, my limbic architecture sundered by the song of her, my mind reconstituting piece by piece. She levers herself up, meeting my eyes, flushed. Her lower lip is swollen and bleeding—she must have bitten it. “If we had unlimited time,” I whisper, “I’d be fucking your mouth again.” There is no airiness in her laugh: it is deep, smoky, onyx and oodh. “We do have a lot of time. Not unlimited though; who has eternity? Not even the Mandate itself. You were wonderfully rough. A human would be incredibly sore right about now, but I’m not one of those, so we are a
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