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She reached out, her fingers hesitant. The deer—Knox—tilted his head down, letting her touch his antlers. Her hand trembled slightly as she caressed the boney protrusion. The ivory tines were warmer than she thought they’d be, a living extension of the man inside. She petted his pelt next, charmed by the coarse fur and the feel of his muscles bunching and moving underneath. Sitting back, she winked up at him. "You probably get this a lot,but…nice rack.” The deer flashed back into a man who tackled her onto her pillows with a wolfy growl. “Always gotta be the smartass, don’t you? ↗
I cannot come with you, my prince," he said with great tenderness, as he kneeled over the sleeping Neriah and placed the chain around his neck. "But perhaps, when you sleep, you will dream of me." He touched his hand to Neriah's forehead and whispered, "Now, forget me. ↗
They dream of men with gentle hands, eloquent with tenderness, fingers that brushed along a cheek, that outlined open lips in the lovers' braille. Hands that sculpted sweetness from sullen flesh, that traced breast and ignited hips, opening, kneading. Flesh becomes bread in the heat of those hands, braided and rising. ↗
She is standing on my lids And her hair is in my hair She has the colour of my eye She has the body of my hand In my shade she is engulfed As a stone against the sky She will never close her eyes And she does not let me sleep And her dreams in the bright day Make the suns evaporate And me laugh cry and laugh Speak when I have nothing to say ↗
