“I crave you, Martina.” He slides his fingers into my hair and pulls me closer to him. “I’ve craved you from the moment I saw you, and I promised myself I’d carve that craving out of me. But the deeper I cut, the deeper you burrow. I’m afraid that if I don’t stop trying to rid myself of you, I’ll end up cutting out my own heart.” “Then let go of the knife,” I say, my lips close enough to brush against his, “and let me mend you.”
