Chapter Nine
I still met Nathaniel as often as our lives would allow. He was tender where Luther was so harsh. I relished the feel of his hands, the way they’d slide along my skin, the way his breath on me tickled the tiny hairs at the back of my neck and in the pit of my arms. Sometimes I giggled like a silly child. His tongue would tease my n*****s until they stood on end, two small mountain peaks, craggy and shriveled at odd angles. He laughed then as he pretended to bite them, then listened to me squeal when that gentle nibble shot an arrow of arousal between my thighs.
Nate would bring roses to our bed and squeeze the fragrance into my skin. I’d squeeze the petals into his ass cheeks and then lick the skin like it was sugar candy—though it never tasted sweet. One day I grew
