The Mute

Gooseflesh blossomed, rising to meet the soft tickle of the feather he snaked down her back. Dipping the quill into ink, he wrote words he could not speak, dark lines of script tattooed across her flesh.

She squirmed beneath the sharp point, making it difficult for him to get the words out.

“I wish you’d put it where I could see it,” she said softly.

But he kept scratching his pen down her spine, spilling secrets he could not say…silent confessions she could feel deep in her bones. Somewhere inside, she thought she could hear him whisper, I love you.