When I feel pressure building, I close my eyes, lost in his smell and the sound of his deep breathing, in the horrific, decadent ache of feeling seen. Of feeling complete. “Look at me,” he says, because he wants to be seen, too. I open my eyes and his gaze sears through me like a bolt of electricity. It sends me over the edge and I explode into a million pieces, each one a different shard of the Leighs I am, and the Leighs I could be.
