Beside

46 - starvation

"Fox, it hurts when I breathe."

"Maybe your heart's too big."

"Is that dangerous?"

"I don't know. I like your heart."

ｃｈｒｉｓ

I try to stop it—what's happening inside me. Not the heat coiling low in my belly or the sheen of sweat on my skin. Not the mewing sounds at the back of my throat or the way I breathe his air into my lungs. Not the grind of his pelvis against every nerve I have, and not the sparkling shimmer pulsing off my body with each heartbeat.

It's not any of that I'm trying to stop. It's the string of light tied to my finger, fine like spun glass, weaving its way through the air, searching for another. It's the bond.

My shoulder blades dig into the floor's carpet, even with my quilt thrown down under us. We exist in the hazy morning light from my window. His breaths taste like the sweet mint tea he brought me an hour ago, the one we shared. I exhale a shaky, shuddering sigh as I hold his shoulders.

His hand slides down my thigh, pausing at my knee before easing it up around his waist, deepening each inch, hitting a place so far I almost choke. "You feel so fucking perfect."

My hands roam over his back, following the flex of muscle under his feverish skin. The way he's holding back for me, offering so much time. I feel him everywhere—his chest grazing mine, his abdomen rocking into my belly, and my nerves brushed every... single... time.

His hand slips under my jaw, tilting my head back as he thrusts inside me. "I want you to look at me. Can you do that?"

"Fox," I gasp as I draw my nails across his back.

"Open your eyes and look at me."

I can't, but I do. It's almost unbearable—his half-lidded eyes of green and gold, lips bitten-pink, wet and swollen. I ache under the weight of him.

And I'm seconds away from exploding into a star.

"Just breathe," he murmurs, and I inhale as deep as I can, my body exhausted, wrung out almost completely.

He's trying to hold me here for just a little longer, but he already used his fingers to make me shatter once, and now he's pushing me over the cliff again. He likes to watch me fall, likes to catch every piece.

"Breathe, Chris." I nod and he nods with me. "Good girl."

He pulls my bottom down with his thumb as he slows, the movements so torturously intentional. "You don't have to do anything else. Just feel it."

I choke out his name, my hands clutching at him but catches my wrists and pins them above my head. That's when I can't take it, I just can't, and I lift my hips to meet him, to angle that connection so he hits where I need him to. I swear I could catch fire as the shockwaves blast up my spine.

His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth. "You're glowing for me, darling."

That's it—I burn, everything splintering as I pulse around him, my head thrown back, back arched in ecstasy. He's with me this time, thrusting deep, shuddering over me.

And the silence is the loudest, most hammering thrum in my ears I've ever felt. I am a star, glowing but dying, seen a thousand years too late.

Fox, moving in slow motion, slips his hand beneath my back, and lifts me just enough to roll us.

My head spins at the shift, at the feeling of him still deep inside me. I press my hands on the floor and drop my forehead to his slick, warm chest, my lungs hitching.