Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

I want to sink my teeth into every inch of it.
She whispers, “You’re growling, Simba.”
I playfully bite her neck. My dick is throbbing.
But I’m already late.
When I sigh against her throat, she knows.
“Oh no. So soon?”
The disappointment in her voice drives a stake through my
heart. I roll to my back and pull her on top of me, arranging
her as I love to do, so we’re chest to chest, belly to belly,
thighs on top of thighs.
My chest aching, I say, “I won’t be able to come back for a
while.”
“How long?”
I hesitate, but have to tell her the truth. “Probably a
month.”
She’s silent.
Then she whispers, “My birthday’s February twentieth.”
“I know.”
“That’s about a month from now. So maybe…?”
“Yes. I promise.”
Some of the tension goes out of her body. In a small voice,
she says, “Okay.”
It’s another stake through my heart, only this time, it’s
stabbing me there over and over.
We lie quietly together. Our breathing falls in sync.
Outside, a bird starts to sing a sweet, sad song of parting.
Christ. I’m losing my mind.
The ache inside my chest expands, sending a lump up into
my throat.
After a long time, she murmurs, “I’ve been meaning to ask
you—what happened with Chris? I haven’t seen him drive by