The only thing anchoring her to this realm of existence is the way I hold her to me, giving her enough space to writhe and buck and shudder through her release, but not letting her escape my mouth’s reach.
If she’s the only wine I ever drink again, I will die a happy man.
I ease off from sucking but continue to caress her with my tongue. Long, slow, broad strokes meant to soothe and comfort while letting her know I’m nowhere near done with her.
I’ll never be done with her.
I’m a man obsessed. There’s no denying it. No getting around it. Not that I want to. I still catch myself watching her on the security cameras just to reassure myself that she is still here, that this is real, that I’m not about to wake up and find out she’s still lost—
No. I need to drive those dark thoughts from
