Page 97 of Woman on the Verge

Everything is fine here. The girls are asleep!

The exclamation mark soothes my guilt-ridden soul.

Ok, great! Glad to hear! Sorry again! Not sure what happened with my phone!

My relief has resulted in the manic use of four exclamation marks.

I’m going to bed. Hope you’re having a nice time with Prisha!

I look next to me at Elijah’s sleeping form, the perfection of him.

I am. See you tomorrow.

The next morning, I wake up curled into Elijah’s body.

“I’m the bigCand you’re the littlec,” he says.

I am not into this metaphor, as it reminds me of teaching Grace her letters. She persists in writing theCbackward and yells at me when I attempt to correct her.

“Do I keep you too warm at night?” I ask.

His hand is reaching underneath my arm, cupping my breast.

“You are a little heater,” he says.

He kisses my ear, sucks on the lobe.

“Hey now,” I say. “It’s my turn.”

I lean back into him until he relents and lies back on the bed. I climb on top of him, one knee on either side of his middle.

“Where’s that blindfold?” I ask.

He reaches into his nightstand, throws it to me. I put it on him, feeling both turned on and silly. There is something nice, though, abouthim not being able to see what I’m doing. He seems so vulnerable, helpless, at my mercy.

I am not nearly as patient as he was with me. I don’t have the same ability to pace myself. I start with gentle kisses from his toes up to his lips, but then I get right to putting him in my mouth. He doesn’t object. I suppose when it’s my turn, it’s my rules.

“Do you want me to come?” he asks. I can tell he’s close.

“If you want to.”

“I’d rather come with you.”

“I came so many times yesterday,” I say. “The score would be very uneven.”

I’m already relenting, though, already positioning myself atop him.

“You need to stop keeping score,” he says.

I put him inside me, and within a few minutes, we come together.

I collapse on his chest, and we breathe in unison, our bodies moving up and down as one.

“I don’t want you to go,” he says once we have caught our breath.

I trace each finger of his hand with my fingertip.

“I don’t want to go.”

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