What a feeling it was, to want, to crave, to bend toward someone’s touch, so desperate for it that it was exquisite, that it felt akin to pain. To be bruised by a reverent mouth, to gasp when teeth found the soft fruit of lips and bit, to drink his moan as if it were the one oath binding her to this world. To scarcely breathe, for what was the work of breathing when mouths could do this?
