I lose myself completely to it for a second – to the feel of Christian’s mouth moving against mine, to the way his hair feels against my fingers as I slip them through his hair, to the way his hand slides down along my side with intent, with reverence.
But when that palm hits one of the bruises on my ribs, pressing a little harder than I think he means to in his urgency to touch me, to feel me –
I come back to myself.
And remember who I am. And who he is. And why we’re here. And the life from which we’ve stolen this night, this time.
I pull away, staring up into his beautiful face, shaking my head slightly.
“Iris,” he begs, shaking his head as well, but for a different reason. “Please, Iris – I don’t – it’s all I’ve ever –“
“Chris,” I whisper, staring up at him with wide eyes. I
