“God, I missed you,” he murmurs, and part of me starts to panic because it feels like I’m losing control. We are not getting back together. I did not agree to this. But I can’t stop it, and I don’t want to. Because the truth is, I missed him too. I missed the comfort of his touch and how, without reason, the intimacy between us reached further than something sexual. It was almost spiritual. “I missed you, too,” I whimper.
