Just me.
Just this.
His eyes flutter open.
They meet mine and for a second, neither of us breathes.
Then, his hand slides to the back of my neck.
No leash.
No pressure.
Just touch.
His thumb grazes my skin, and he speaks— “You never belonged to the dark, Raven.” His voice is low. Almost broken. “You were made to carry it.”
My throat tightens but I don’t cry. I lean in, rest my forehead against his, and whisper back: “Then don’t you dare run from it.”
His breath catches and this time—he’s the one who nods.
We stay like that for a while.
Forehead to forehead.
No movement. No sound.
Just the shared silence of two people who have done the unthinkable and somehow crawled out of it still wanting to touch each other.
My knees ache.
There’s blood under my nails.
His cum is leaking out of me, and I can still taste the ash of the candle wax dried across my shoulder blades and none of it matters because I’ve never felt more alive.
More whole.
He finally exhales, voice ragged, breaking open the quiet with the softest thing I’ve ever heard from him: “You scare me.” I blink. Pull back slightly. He doesn’t look away. “You scare me because I didn’t think I’d ever want to stay. Not after I got what I wanted. But now… I don’t want to leave.”
I don’t touch him because of the way he says it?
It’s not a gift.
It’s a confession and it hits something in me that’s still raw because I know exactly what he means.
I was supposed to run.
I was supposed to use him, survive him, outlive him but I didn’t.
I stayed.
To crawl deeper into his mouth even when I knew it would eat me alive and I liked it.
So I whisper back: “Then don’t.”
He closes his eyes.
Not in defeat.
