*Tristan*

Her hands travel back up my arms, over my shoulders, down my chest. “I don’t think I can ever get enough of this”.

Leaning in, she presses her mouth to the center of my chest. It is my undoing.

“Eve”. The guttural sound is that of a man dying, and I am. I plow my fingers through her hair, tilting up her face, and take her mouth as though I own it, as though I am the only one who will ever experience the taste of her. It drives me mad to think of anyone else ever knowing her as I have.

Her hands travel along my neck, up...