We're wasting time with all this personal shit, I said. I glanced back to find Micah walking slowly toward us. He moved his body so that he could trace the outline of my body against the mattress and sheets. I found the energy of him in the far corner in plain sight.
What kind of childhood is it without books, stories to share? I knew that he'd had an older brother, who died, and a father who died, and a mother who died. I know, he said. You've ripped off most of the nails on both hands. My hands were on his body, following the flow of his shoulders, his back, and the smooth silken curve of his ass.
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