Caitriona's body is a whip of electricity.
Her body is sweat, silt, mud, lightning, animal.
it could move fire
And she tastes salt, the copper of pennies - of blood - and he is biting her lip, sucking it back into his mouth, till she feels swollen all over. Between her legs, her breasts, the nape of her neck, the places behind her knees. Everywhere is tender, and snaking hot
when he is inside, finally, the relief sends her reeling
the sharpness of that relief, like a hurting note of music.
She clutches at his hair, wants to rake his back with her nails, wants to savage him like he is savaging her. His cock, the grind of his pubic bone, the hair there rubbing rough against her until she could scream, could shatter pianos with the sound of her orgasm, the wet rush
and still, it is all relief.
It all comes back to that, to knowing.
Because in dreams,
Caitriona knows who he is.
When she wakes, his face eludes her. His name is muddled, smeared like condensation on glass.
When she wakes, she turns over.
She stares at her husband, sleeping beside her, lost in his own wanderings, and