?Whose ass is this?? he’ll ask, giving me a playful—if still stinging—slap on the bottom. Or sticking his finger inside me without preamble.?You...s.??Don’t forget it.??I won’t.?From where I lie nestled against his hairy chest, I stare up at the shadows of the roses that he brought me earlier in the evening; they’re dancing hypnotically on the ceiling in the scant light of a scented tea candle. H. begins to reminisce in the dark. He’s recalling the night he took me to an upscale restaurant along. I remembered there was a step stool in the kitchen, and fetched it for him. That allowed him to get to the wooden strip above the door, and start levering it off, very gently.With that safely off, he was able to examine the remainder from the edges, and worked out where best to apply leverage to start puling out a nail. As soon as that started, he tapped the wood enough to spring the head of the nail, and with his claw hammer, he had that nail out in a jiffy.That got him to the next nail, and. More

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