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.

Ginger Bred Man

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