[ A moment, then two, then he sends another photo, this time a selfie. He's sitting slouched down on a sofa in a flattering green shirt, his eyes uplifted in question and a vape at his lips.
He knows what he did. ]
I don't think anything I'd like do to you would kill you.
[...]
Would you do something for me, Vevay? To help me make a point, nothing more.
On the small of your back nearer to your waist, there's a vine that curls upward but follows the curves of your body very well. It's magnificent artistry.
Would you trace it with you finger, please, to establish the sensation of it?
[...]
Or, rather, to establish what I mean when I say I'd like to trace it also. Lightly, with the tip of my tongue.
1/2
He knows what he did. ]
I don't think anything I'd like do to you would kill you.
[...]
Would you do something for me, Vevay? To help me make a point, nothing more.
On the small of your back nearer to your waist, there's a vine that curls upward but follows the curves of your body very well. It's magnificent artistry.
Would you trace it with you finger, please, to establish the sensation of it?
[...]
Or, rather, to establish what I mean when I say I'd like to trace it also. Lightly, with the tip of my tongue.
I think I'll grow very fond of that vine's taste.