Wright:
I keep her wrists pinned above her head, but I don’t touch her anywhere else. Not yet.Not even a brush of my hand.
I want her to be undone without me being inside her first.
“I want you to listen to me,” I murmur, hovering just close enough that she feels every breath I exhale. “Not with your ears. With that part of you that already belongs to me.”
She trembles.
Good.
“I could touch you right now, and you’d fall apart,” I tell her. “But that’s not what I want.”
Her chest rises, fast, frantic.
“What I want,” I continue, voice slow and devastating, “is for your mind to break before your body does.”
Her breath stutters — she knows what that means, even if she can’t put it into words.
“Because when you fall for me here,” I brush my thumb lightly against her temple, “your body
