‘I got a mental image today of Connor, wrists bound to the bed and legs wide as I kneel between them. He’s panting, eyes hazy with need and soft with trust, and pleading with me for more, faster, as I gently but surely open him up for me… I’m not sure if I’m disappointed it ended before I actually got to take him or relieved it did because even with the scene cut that short, I damned near came in my pants. My brain either hates me or loves me and I honestly don’t know which.’