Using the wall as leverage, I hoist her up until she’s eye-level, so when I show her how much she means to me, she’ll have a perfect view.
My hands rip at the shirt she’s wearing—my shirt—and I tear it down the centre, not having the patience to wait for her to raise her arms. Once the material falls to the floor, I bend my head, capturing her pointed bud in my mouth.
I’d love to bring her back to bed and worship the body I almost lost, not even an hour ago. She’s back, and there’s nothing more I want but to tie her to my bed and make sure she stays there so she never leaves again, but reality will set in soon.
We’re human.
In hindsight, I’m mad at myself for not picking up on the obvious. Mary lied and I was stupid for not figuring it out, but the lost magic isn’t what I’m angry about
