His name wraps around me before I even open my eyes.
The bed beneath me is firm—his bed. The one I’ve woken up in a hundred times, legs tangled with his, throat sore from screaming his name in ways no prayer should echo.
I shift slightly. My body aches in all the familiar places—between my thighs, in my wrists, along the fading bruises across my ribs. My mind hums, heavy and fogged, but the comfort of it lulls me.
I don’t remember how we got here.
But I know he’s near.
I smell him.
Feel him.
And when the mattress dips beside me, I don’t flinch.
Because it’s him.
His hand finds my waist, warm and steady. His lips ghost along my shoulder.
“You’re safe now.”
His voice is lower than usual. Rougher. Like he’s been screaming.
But the words sink into my skin like balm.
“I missed you,” I whisper, leaning back against him.
He kisses the curve of my neck, tongue flicking over a healing bite mark. “I was always with you.”
His fingers drift between my thighs, and I gasp—because the pain is real. The soreness.
But I want it.
I want him.
I roll over, eyes still half-closed, and he meets me with a kiss. Slow. Possessive. Familiar.Sofamiliar.
“Don’t leave me again,” I murmur into his mouth.
He smiles. It’s dim in the room, but I see the shape of it.
Too wide.
Not quite right.
I pause.
His hand cups my cheek.
“You begged me to come back.”
He slides between my legs, his body pressing into mine, and I don’t stop him. Even when his mouth moves to my ear and whispers:
“You scream the same as you did at fifteen.”
Something snaps.
My eyes fly open.
