I polish off the last of the bread, wash it down with water, and then pounce on him once more. In the last while, we’ve made love at least…five, no, six times. He claimed me up against a wall. He claimed me in the fountain, holding me in his arms and gazing so deeply into my eyes I thought I might break apart from the emotion of it. He’s claimed me sweetly in the blankets over and over again, until I’m aching between my thighs and muscles I didn’t know I had are sore from overuse. Still, I’m not tired of him.
