Ritual and Rebirth
“His tongue was skilled and precise. He slipped it into my pussy and lingered there for long, delightful moments. He ran it around my swollen clit in gentle, purposed circles. He was tasting me, feasting on me.”
Twelve years of literary drought. She has a strange winter ritual that leads her into a summer of grumbling at tourists and avoidance. He has returned home to open his grandfather’s book store, see the ocean, jump start his life again. She is a curmudgeon. He is an optimist. She is hiding. He is seeking.