Darcy Branwyn

I usually don’t do this. Usually I schedule all my posts ahead of time and plan out exactly what I’m doing, but I’m in a weird mood, I guess. I’m sitting here listening to the above song on repeat, and writing this:

❤️💔Danielle and Lothar: 💔❤️ (Damn but I wish you two were real people. Must be something wrong with my head, I don’t know. I love you both and your love for each other so much it rips my heart out of me. 😫😭I’m just going to go grab a box of tissues now.)

…He lowered his head, still not touching her. Even over the space heater she could feel his warmth. The musk of him, that she was ever aware of, heightened as if to remind her to whom she belonged.

Not that she needed the reminder.

Not that she hadn’t been ready years ago to drop at his feet and plead for mercy.

His lips touched hers, lightly. Yes, he was paying the game. Her fantasy. In this dream she wasn’t used to him yet, and needed to be coaxed into surrender. She moaned despite herself as his tongue entered her mouth slowly, seductively, skimming the inside of her lower lip, and then her teeth. What was it about this, that turned them both on? That they’d had to wait so long to be together, that maybe, it should have been like this all along, with her still in school, and him her Mentor. Or maybe they were even more into each other for the fact that one thing had never changed; being together could still get them killed. He bit gently down on her bottom lip making her gasp. Why did it feel like her every cell was a live wire?

He let go of her bottom lip, and then his nose skimmed her cheek until his mouth reached her ear. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, his breath warm on her skin. “I must have you.”

A jolt, like electricity shot down her spine. Yes, this was how it should have been. That was why they both needed it like this, as if they could somehow heal the fractures within themselves by pretending to fix the past.