I don’t like to stay long after the s*x if I can help it. McBane starts to snore before he’s even pulled out of me most nights, and if I’m not too badly beaten, I drag myself upstairs, tend to my wounds the best I can, wash him off before collapsing on my own bed. That’s if I’m conscious when he’s through.
If I’m not, I’ll wake sometime in the night to find he’s already gone, leaving me on sheets stained with my own blood. Once or twice, when it was very bad, he woke Delia before he left, hollered up the stairs to her, told her come down and sew me back together again. That’s what she said. At any rate, I don’t remember it.
But here, now, Coby’s arms are strong and comforting and when I rouse myself awake, I’m surprised to see bright morning light slanting in through the window above the
