I shuddered.
“This body is mine,” she whispered, placing a hand on her own heart. “And this body—” her other hand wrapped around me and I groaned “—is yours. And this room is ours.”
She leaned in, lips brushing me, soft and devastating. “Weclaim it in joy, in pleasure, and in power. Let no snake, no curse, no coward haunt it again.”
And then her mouth was on me, hot and wet—and I saw stars behind my eyes, saw the goddamn gates of heaven, feathers and light. I buried my hand in her hair, holding on for dear life as she sucked me.
“June...”
“You feel so good,” she whispered against me as she pulled away for a moment—then I was in her mouth again, moaning, gasping. I couldn’t help but rock my hips, setting a rhythm, shocked that I was already hard and ready for her again.
In the silence, I wanted to pick up where she’d left off…but all I could think to say was, “Fuck off, ghosts…and…fuck, snakes and shit?—”
June pulled away from me again with a laugh, her hand still stroking me as I rocked my hips toward her. “That’s the spirit,” she said, voice breathy.
I couldn’t stop laughing. Half from the absurdity of what we were doing. Half from the overwhelming, unbearable ache of how much I wanted her. Needed her. Loved her.
June kissed the inside of my thigh again and murmured, “Let’s cleanse the space.”
And she did. With her hands. With her mouth. With the way she looked up at me like I was holy, like she had every intention of writing new scripture with her body.
Her lips moved slow at first, then faster, taking me deeper, working me with a devotion that undid me. My hand fisted in her hair, my thighs trembling, my whole body drawn so tight I thought I’d shatter before I could come. And still she kept going, like she could taste my need, like she could drink it down and make it part of her.
By the time I pulled her up, kissed her deep and hard and messy, she was already pushing me backward onto the bed—this bed I hadn’t touched since the night it tried to take herfrom me. It didn’t feel cursed anymore. Not with her hovering over me like this, hair wild, eyes bright, her hand curled against my chest like she could tether herself to the beat of my heart.
“This is reclamation,” she whispered, easing her body over mine, heat meeting heat. “This is how we survive.”
I gripped her hips as she sank down, and we both gasped, our foreheads pressing together like we couldn’t bear to be even an inch apart. I buried my hands in her hair. She dug her nails into my shoulders. We moved together like we were remaking the world, breath by breath, grind by grind.
There was no fear left in the room.
Only us. Only this.
And the way she moved…I was already on my way to coming again, to filling her and making sure this space was full of nothing but love. That’s when I figured out what I needed to say—the truest, shortest prayer I could imagine, a few short words that said,I need you. I hope you’ll stay.
So I said them, because life is too short not to.
“I love you, June Fontenot,” I gasped.
She stilled.
Her eyes opened—wide and wild and full—and for the briefest moment I thought maybe I’d said it too soon, maybe I’d scared her, maybe I’d shattered the spell we’d just cast with our bodies and breath.
But then her hands cradled my face like I was precious.
Then she kissed me like she was sealing something eternal.
And then she said, against my lips: “I know. I love you too.”
It was the kind of moment I’d never let myself believe in—not really. Not after losing Amelia. Not after burying the parts of myself that still hoped. But June didn’t ask for the polished version of me. She didn’t want my mask or my penance.
She wanted my heart. My hunger.
My haunted house of a soul.
She kissed me again—deeper, slower, like she was letting the words settle in her body as much as mine. And I moved with her—lifting my hips, rolling us over, bracing myself above her as she laughed against my mouth. Her hair spread out across my pillow like a halo, her legs hitching around my waist.
“Say it again,” she whispered.
