Ginger Bred Man

The argument had ruined her throat – scratched raw from shouting at him late into the night. Now he had left, she felt empty and hoarse; tiny tears at the back of her throat preventing her welling up.

Ginger was good for the throat, she had heard.

It took a long time. Gently peeling back the husk and painstakingly stitching them together. Fishing wire sinews. But in time he was done: long knobbly fingers to entwine with hers, dry cracked skin to subtle care for.

His tongue was spry and spicy but he kissed her like he meant it.

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Ginger Bred Man

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