The space between us was an executioner’s blade—thin as a hair’s breadth, and yet, the difference of an eternal soul. The lush curve of Asar’s mouth twisted. The muscles of his throat flexed. He started to pull away. But my hands fell to his shoulders. I traced the muscular lines of them, to his throat, his chin. I was so sick of wanting. This isn’t what love should feel like. “Show me what it should feel like,” I whispered. The blade fell. My sentence was written. We crashed together into beautiful damnation.
