Page 57 of Say My Name

“Should I take your silence as a no?” I ask, not understanding her reluctance. But it’s best one of us has a level head, because mine is about as uneven as you can fucking get.

“Ok, I’ll bite,” she finally says. Her words conjure up images of those pearly whites nipping at my flesh. In the middle of a graveyard, surrounded by death, she can still make my cock throb.

“Come on, follow me.” I lead her out of the cemetery to my Bugatti and open the passenger door for her.

She slides onto the soft leather seat. “Wow. I’ve never been in a car this expensive.”

She’s the first woman in this car, and fuck, she’s sexy with the seatbelt snuggled between her breasts.

“This car was made for you.” It’s like her very own accessory, accenting the sparkle in her eyes, and the lightness of her hair.

I stare at her toned legs a moment before I walk around the car and get into the driver’s side. Her fresh-out-of-the-shower scent invades my space and I pull away from the curb faster than I should to escape the images rolling through my mind of her soapy and wet.

I drive aimlessly for a few minutes before I pull into the park connected to the Saint Ignatius Loyola church.

“We can go for a walk and talk here,” I say, pulling into a spot in the lot.

It’s on the chilly side today, and I watch as Swan exits the car and pulls her cardigan tighter around her body.

“I have an extra jacket,” I tell her.

“I’m fine.”

I don’t believe her and snag the jacket from the backseat anyway.

“You didn’t let me open your door, but I can at least keep you from freezing.” I round the hood of the car and hold the jacket out so she can slip her arms inside.

“It’s really unnecessary.” I give it a little shake and she rolls her eyes, but a playful smile lifts her lips. “Such chivalry. Thank you.”

The sun dips below the horizon as we walk the cobblestone path that runs next to the church.

“So, are you going to tell me?” She peers up at me.

I take a deep breath. “When I was younger, my mother was obsessed with swans.” I hate memories of my mother. The pain of her death tarnishes them.

“That’s nice. My mother was obsessed with roosters.” She shudders. “There were cocks everywhere in the house. In the kitchen, the bathroom, even the living room. The worst was the giant one on the front porch.”

A laugh escapes my lips. It’s been so long since I laughed; it sounds foreign to my ears. After the last few somber months, it feels good to be in this momentary light-hearted bubble. “That’s what she said.”

Pink stains her cheeks as she giggles at my crude joke. The airy sound is a balm to the wounds festering in my soul. “You are the last person on Earth I’d expect to make a ‘that’s what she said’ joke.”

“Put that in your vault.” I tap her temple. “Because that’s a once in a lifetime happening.”

“So, why did your mom like swans so much?”

“She thought they were graceful and beautiful, but it was more than that.”

We take a seat on a wrought-iron bench facing the empty playground.

“What was it?” she asks.

The breeze moves the swings, transporting me to a different time. “There was once a swan maiden who could shapeshift between a swan and her human form. One day a man saw the woman and fell instantly in love.”

“Awe, I love this story.”

“Well, not so fast. The maiden used swan feathers to turn back into a swan and fly away.”

“Ah.”

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