I can’t move.
I don’t trust myself to.
Because all I can see, all I can fucking see, is her on that floor.
Still.
Gone.
And every instinct I have is screaming at me that if I touch her the wrong way, if I lose control for even a second, I will put her back there.
I will be the one who breaks her.
And I will not survive that.
“You told me once…”
Her voice cuts through everything.
Soft. Steady. Devastating.
“That I only ever kneel for you.”
My chest tightens harder. Because I did say that. I said it like a promise. Like a claim. Like something unshakable. And now she’s using it to reach me. To pull me back.
“I’m kneeling for you.”
My hands flex at my sides.
I should stop this. I should pull her up. I should end this before it goes any further, before I lose whatever control I’ve been holding onto by my teeth for days.
But I don’t move. I can’t.
Because the sight of her like this, for me, offering herself to me like this, is tearing something open in me that I don’t know how to contain.
“I’m yours, Elijah.”
Fuck.
My throat burns.
“You claimed me… remember?”
I remember everything. Every time I put my hands on her. Every time I took her apart and built her back up again. Every time she looked at me like I was something she chose.
Something she wanted.
Something she needed.
And now she’s looking at me like that again, but this time there’s something else in it.
Desperation.
Need.
A crack in her that I put there.
“I’m here.”
