Getting her out of that tight little dress and onto her knees so I can paint sin across her tongue.
But instead, I step back.
Just slightly.
Just enough to pretend I’m giving her space, even though we both know I’m not.
And that’s when it hits me—like a goddamn sniper round to the skull.
The way she looks at me right now?—
Open.
Raw.
Curious.
It reminds me of a girl I once met.
Just a girl.
A child.
Dust in her hair.
Shaking hands.
Hiding behind a crumbling wall while her brother bled out two feet away.
She looked up at me like I was the devil and the saviour in the same breath.
And I was.
I had to be.
That was the job.
Do what they couldn’t.
Become what they needed.
Turn yourself into the monster so nobody else had to.
I blink.
The club’s too loud.
Too hot.
Too full of perfume and sweat and things I can’t name without bleeding.
She’s still watching me.
Still caught in whatever the fuck this is.
And she doesn’t know—God, she doesn’t know what I’ve done.
Where these hands have been.
