The decision was hers - a tentative fingertip brushing his wrist, barely skin meeting skin - and then everything ignited. His hands at her throat, his mouth against places long untouched by light, her body reacquainted with sensations her mind had yet to process. There were no sweet declarations, no measured movements, just heat and tempo and unrelenting pressure - reverence carved out of relentless intent. She had forgotten the volume of pleasure, the way feeling alive again could ache so fiercely. And when it ended, her body quaked, undone and exposed in ways she hadn’t thought possible - and already trembling with the intensity of craving more.

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