“His words make me squirm. He wouldn’t dare! He and his twitchy palm.”

“Stow your twitchy palm!”

“This is impossible.""This what?" I clutch the collar of his shirt in my fingers. His face is so close l study the varying color of his eyes.For a long time, he says nothing. Stares at me in that way that makes me want to squirm. For a moment, it seems that his irises glow and the pupils shrink to slits. Then, he mutters, "A hunter in love with his prey”

“His words make sense. He's not the man for me. This is what he meant, and it makes his rejection to accept... almost. I can live with this. I understand.”

“The rat squealed as he bit into it, squirming wildly in his hands, frantic to escape.”

“It would never have occurred to him that in placing the apricot in my palm he was giving me his ass to hold or that, in biting the fruit, I was also biting into that part of his body that must have been fairer than the rest because it never apricates - and near it, if I dared to bite that far, his apricock.”