by Maggie Schurr
I could feel the oath in his fingertips as they raked across my back, his nails catching on the bone speed bumps they ran into. His lips were perfectly content at my collarbone, happy with making bite marks and bruises on my shoulder, carefully branding me where he knew I could hide it. It was better, for both of us, if I could hide them later. The real world would see it in simplest terms; the real world would make it something evil. I clutched harder at his shirt as he broke skin, and I felt his exhale of pleasure in my ear. And I wondered if maybe the real world was onto something.
Maggie Schurr is going over the speed limit.