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Summary
There is a particular kind of wanting that lives below language.
Below thought. Below reason. Below every careful, constructed version of yourself you present to the world with steady hands and a composed expression.
It lives in the body. It speaks in pulse and heat and the involuntary catch of breath. It doesn't ask permission. It doesn't negotiate.
It simply is; bone-deep and relentless and entirely, devastatingly his.
She had tried, once, to explain it to herself. The ache of wanting him. How it was different from anything before; not louder, necessarily, but deeper. The difference between a sound you hear and a sound you feel in your chest. The difference between wanting something and needing it the way you need air, quietly and constantly and without drama, until suddenly you don't have it and the absence is catastrophic.
She needed him the way she needed air.
He already knew. He had always known. That was, perhaps, the most devastating thing about him.
OR
Jack gives April a lesson in how well he knows her body and April needs him to fuck her until she sees stars.
Series
- Part 2 of The softest love