And the hands that held me afterward felt like his.
And the mouth that kissed me when I was shaking whispered all the things I never told him I needed.
The hands on my face shift, tilt my head up.
And there are two of him again.
One kneeling.
One standing.
Both watching me.
Both wanting me.
“You remember who kissed you first, don’t you?”
One voice.
Then the other?—
“You remember who ruined you.”
My mouth trembles.
My heart races and for the first time—I realise something worse than not knowing who’s real.
Maybe they both are.
Maybe he never split.
Maybe I did.
I don’t know who’s kissing me.
It doesn’t matter because the mouth on mine knows how to take, and the hand wrapped around my throat knows exactly how tight I like it—right before I pass out, right before I beg.
I’m lifted, carried backward, lowered onto something soft.
The bed?
The mattress?
No.
He built the altar out of me.
One Damien holds my wrists above my head, binding them in red silk I don’t remember asking for.
The other is between my legs.
Both mouths move at once.
“You trust me, don’t you?”
“You wanted this long before you knew who I really was.”
My thighs are spread.
