Olivia
Every part of me is sore, but being in his arms brings out something that I haven’t felt in years. I can’t keep myself from wondering who he is. I still don’t know his name. I want to ask, but it feels like the moment has long passed.
I decide to take my chances regardless. “I don’t know your name,” I hesitate, the words coming out of my mouth with more effort than they should. Embarrassment makes my cheeks red. I hide my face with my hand, trying to shelter it from his view.
A deep breath leaves him. It puzzles me why my question seems to burden him.
“You don’t need to know my name,” he finally says after a long pause of silence between us. I wonder why it is so important to him to keep his anonymity when his sperm is leaking out of me right now. But I choose not to press further.