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    Summary

    “Do you want my attention?” A simple question, plainly asked.

    “Yes, please.” A small clearing of the throat, as though Ike would be disappointed at the haste with which Vox lets words fall from between his lips. “Of course I do.”

    It’s easy, like this. (What difficulty is there, when you and your lover are this close?)

    Ike strides to the edge of the bed, guiding Vox’s legs towards him and pushing them gently apart. The fabric of Vox’s skirt is no longer pleated in places, stretching to accommodate the movement.

    Skin burning with anticipation, throat burning with impatience as it closes around unspoken syllables—ones that simply don’t need to be said. There is no, “Come on and do this, slut,” to be said—not by Ike, at least, and not by Vox. Neither needs to be commanded, and Ike does not need to do anything but kneel on the floor for Vox to realize how he should act. How he should follow.

    Language:
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