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“Do you have any idea how stunning you look on your knees?” Pulling back, I kiss his slit, absorbing the pearly bead leaking from it. “Not as stunning as I’ll look with you down my throat.”
Damage inflicted is not so easily erased, no matter the amount of time between the initial hurt and eventual recovery.
Asking that question feels like I’m cutting myself wide open and begging him to stop the bleeding.
No one else has ever been willing to save me, when it was all I ever really wanted to begin with. That unconditional kind of love that you’d risk your life on a battlefield for.
