The way she rolls her lip in her teeth isn’t exactly no, I didn’t, but maybe that knowing is different to feeling it. Maybe,
“I mind,” she admits, resisting the usual impulse to prevaricate and dissemble about it. I mind— a bit. I mind— but it’s fine. I mind— it’s often Gwenaëlle reaching for him, it’s not as if he hasn’t been there, isn’t it fucking stupid to miss something she could have just done? Does she even get to say, I’ve missed that? and anyway, it’s been like, a month, she’s gone without sex for longer than that. They both have.
(So she resisted it out loud, but it’s harder, in her own head.)
She tips her forehead against his; their breath mingled, their hands clasped.
At length, “I know you’re not mad,” the shape of a worry she might have had, in some other bed, in some other era of her life. “I haven’t not wanted, exactly.” And she wants, now,
it’s never felt vulnerable to want, quite the way it does now.
no subject
“I mind,” she admits, resisting the usual impulse to prevaricate and dissemble about it. I mind— a bit. I mind— but it’s fine. I mind— it’s often Gwenaëlle reaching for him, it’s not as if he hasn’t been there, isn’t it fucking stupid to miss something she could have just done? Does she even get to say, I’ve missed that? and anyway, it’s been like, a month, she’s gone without sex for longer than that. They both have.
(So she resisted it out loud, but it’s harder, in her own head.)
She tips her forehead against his; their breath mingled, their hands clasped.
At length, “I know you’re not mad,” the shape of a worry she might have had, in some other bed, in some other era of her life. “I haven’t not wanted, exactly.” And she wants, now,
it’s never felt vulnerable to want, quite the way it does now.