Finally, he pulls out and rolls onto his back. “Shit, that was good.”
I’m lost on what to say because something has changed and I want to consider it before I agree. He must get this as he doesn’t press.
“We’d best get on,” I manage. “Get back to the boys, tell them the bank is good pickings.”
He’s fine with this, and once we’re on our way, he’s his eager self while I’m lost to thoughts I can’t corral. The fact that he took me strikes over and over, but where I once thought I’d kill the manwho did such a thing, I find I have no anger. What I do have I can’t figure, only that the whole of me, head to toes and back again, cares for this boy who is more man than any I’ve ever known.
* * * *