Maisy

He told me to stop. But not an urgent stop, not the stop of a mother preventing her child from running into the street, not the stop of someone about to walk off a cliff. It wasn't clipped. It flowed. It flowed on and on and sank into his touch. The s of his "stop" flowed around us and into me as much more of a yes and I told him, more absolute and more firm than his stop, no. No. I wouldn't stop. No. I wouldn't go. No. I would not waste this touch, this feeling so rare, this rush within my skin like I've never felt before. It was worth whatever the cost. And he knew. He knew it, he knew it, he knew.