Chapter Twenty-Two
I’m amused at her eagerness, but I’m an unmoving wall of aftercare, which earns me a charming little tantrum.
“I’ll f**k you every time you ask me,” I promise. “But I need to make sure you’re doing okay first.”
“I’m okay,” she pouts. “Now come over here and do it again.”
I’m over at the bathroom door; I’ve just finished with the condom, and also with a ten-second staring session in the mirror where I stared at the face of a man who’s in love.
I’ve never been in love before.
It’s gutting and disorienting and dizzying—and joyful. Like a roller coaster careening wildly around corners, like a car punching into top gear as the highway streaks away underneath you. Like standing in a prairie summer storm—the blowing rain soaking your skin, lightning sawing across the
