My mouth dries, and I beg. I beg whoever may be listening, with tears stinging my eyes, that this isn’t a trick. A joke. I...fuck, I need him to hold my hand—to touch me more than I think I’ve ever needed anything in my fucking life. And it’s ridiculous, it’s absurd, how fast and swift my overwhelming want for this miserable, gorgeous asshole bowls over me. I want him. I fucking want him. And then he’s there. Teasing my open palm with rough fingertips that are so unlike the gentle softness of a child’s.
