So I do.
He takes my hand and I follow him,
Because I’d follow him to the ends of the earth.
I know that now, and I tell him.
He turns to me, his eyes so stormy and dark.
He scoops me up, and he’s striding through the hallways of Whitley.
His room is dark and masculine, the bed looming against the wall. We tumble into it, and his hand is behind my head as I fall into the pillow.
Our clothing is stripped away and our skin is hot and flushed and alive.
I’m alive.
Dare lives free.
We breathe that freedom in, and he strokes his fingers against me, into me, deep inside and I gasp and sigh and quiver.
“I… yes.” I murmur into his ear.
Consequences can be damned.
I don’t care who he is.
I don’t care what he’s done.
He’s here.
He makes me feel.
I want him.
He wants me.
So he takes me.
There is no pain.
He’s inside and fills me, and his hands…
work magic.
His lips…
breathe life into me,
Filling me,
Creating me.
I call his name.
He calls mine.
I’m intoxicated by the sound, by the cadence, by the beat.