“Kiss me with your teeth,” I insisted.
“It will hurt,” you whispered back.
“It won’t,” I assured you, extending the nape of my neck like a compromised mink,
coyly anticipating slaughter. “I’ll like it.”
With reluctance you obliged, tilting your head and grazing me on the horizontal.
With each pass you seized more flesh, enthusiasm intensifying.
And my breath convinced you I was right on both counts.
Only now do I realize you were referring to your pain.
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