Virgil told me he had his hands on you.” “Only for a minute,” I reply, breathless, as he strokes his fingers up my arms. “That’s sixty seconds too long. I’ll make it up to you, though. I’ll cut off his fingers and make you a necklace. Then I’ll remove his palms and make you a plate. “That’s fucked up.” “Then I’ll just have to settle for ripping out his heart and putting it on your coffee table for your new centerpiece.”
