She can’t call it a renewal. Not really. Not when it never really ended. Or started. It’s a hazy place they’re in, one without boundaries or definitions, but she doesn’t care. All she cares about is the small upward turn of his lip as he backs her to the wall, and the softly murmured question, “Is there something you want?”

Of course there is.

She wants to get as close as possible. To touch every inch of him. To breathe in his scent. She presses her nose to the crease at his thigh before taking him in, slow and deep.

She wants to watch his face. To see his head sinking back. His eyes dropping closed. She wants the words—

“God, your fucking mouth.”

Her voice kills him. Especially when it comes in hot by her ear, his body pressed atop hers. Her hands held down. Her body immobilized. Being his prisoner is the most blissful form of freedom.

She wants him to hold her when she’s shaking. And whisper, “You’re safe.”

He tucks her hair behind her ear, their sweaty limbs entangled.

“I’m not sure where you end and I begin,” he says.

Neither is she.

197 words

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