Contd
Ramirez Gonzales.
“Ramirez,” she breathes against my face in concern.
Her worry is misplaced. She frets over how I’ve leaned on this cane all day, yet here I am, holding her against me like she weighs nothing, as if the cane is merely for show.
“My weight is on you—you must be in pain—”
“I’m not in pain.” I say before she can finish and I stare at her lips.
God, how long has it been? How long since I’ve tasted her? Since I have devoured her lips so slowly, so intimately that the whole world would disappear in her warmth? I’ve been starved of her. I have been deprived of her. I have been deprived of the softness of her tongue.
“How can you not be in pain? I’m sitting on your leg and you won’t let me go—”
Her lips pout as she protests, soft and tempting and I can’t resist any
