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I roll my eyes, grinning myself as he chuckles and winces.

When he’s gotten that out of his system, he turns to me, a bruised, stitched brow arched.

“Well?” he grunts. “How bad is it?”

“Honestly? Pretty hideous,” I shrug.

“Yeah, but I’ve still got agreatfucking dick. So there’s that.”

I laugh, my eyes locking with his.

“Hey, princess?” he murmurs.

I grin. “Yes?”

“I know I’m a mess right now. But I’d really like to fucking kiss?—”

“Yeah,” I frown. “You’ve already used that line.”

“Oh good, then we’ve already practiced what comes next.”

His hand reaches up and tangles in my ponytail as he tugs me down. Our lips crush together as his devour mine.

Like his prey.

Sweet damnation and oblivion.

And pure, lovely madness.

.

I’m not actually sure what compels me to write this. You didn’t ask a question this time, and I don’t really have anything to add to what you said.

Except…I do. Obviously.

I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Probably longer than I want to admit. And maybe I should’ve fought it harder—kept it buried, ignored the way my brain keeps circling back to you, over and over again.

Like gravity I can’t escape.

But here it is:

I’ve fallen for you.

I love you.

Not the idea of you. Not the mystery of you. You. Your sarcasm, your passion, the way you care so fucking much aboutthings even when you try to armor yourself in this charmingly romantic nihilism.

The sharp things inside you. And the soft things you keep buried under them. I’ve fallen for both.

But here’s the thing: you don’t have to worry about this making anything weird, because I’m never giving you this note.

Trust me, you don’t want me to love you, just like you don’t want to love someone like me.

But I’m going to keep this for myself, tucked in a back pocket, so to speak, to remind myself of the time I felt completely like myself, without any of the bullshit.

To remind myself what I’m capable of being.

I can’t wait to meet you in a few days.