WOW. It’s like he’s been waiting here for you your whole life. This beach feels like ‘home’, like you know it isn’t home but in this case your mind knows this is your home, weirdly. Which isn’t good, because that sounds like dream logic.
And if your implementing dream logic, Jose here isn’t real, and he won’t be carrying you to your beach hut and four poster bed, folding you into orgasmic origami, sending you into such ecstasy you forget your own name.
Your face first in a share back of Malteasers again aren’t you? Wearing the share bag like one of those oxygen masks that drop down on a plane in movies, that explains the wheezing breathing – you thought it was the sound of the ocean waves crashing in behind Jose.
Look at him, so engaged and hanging on your every word. “Speak to me again of all the true crime podcasts you listen to about murdered women, that give you nightmares” he says in that smooth deep voice that makes the hair on your arms stand on end.
Fight waking from slumber a little bit longer, maybe Jose still has time to tell you the name of your children together and how he is financially independent through his veterinary practice which rescues turtles from pirates that use them to fire out of cannons at rival pirates. Okay, if you didn’t know you were dreaming you do now.
Yes, you can definitely feel the drool amassing on the corner of your mouth as the remnants of Malteaser crumbs melt onto your chin but Jose doesn’t care, he loves you for love.