Shut us up.

Baby.

You may not know it, but my favorite pastime is talking to you. I love the sound of your voice and the way those brain waves coalesce—I wish I could just sit and chat and listen to you talk about anything that gets you going, anything at all. Aliens, adaptogens, tapering schedules, humanism… fuck, anything. Really. Endlessly. For the rest of my days.

But this isn't about that.

Because, babygirl.

Sometimes, I have got to shut you up.

Fill your pretty mouth with something other than lovely words.

As rivulets run down those beautiful thighs while you wait for yours.

Aw, fuck it.

C'mere, babygirl.

Let's shut both of us up.

‘Til neither of us can keep it in no longer.

Mm.

Oh, and babygirl?

This's just the appetizer.

Yours.