The bedroom light was low, a single lamp casting warm gold across the dresser mirror. Erica stood in front of it, fingertips smoothing the black dress over her hips one final time. The fabric clung exactly as she wanted – low in the back, exposing the soft dip of her spine almost to the curve of her waist, snug across her breasts and waist so every breath reminded her how it felt to be looked at with hunger. Her pale brown bob fell in gentle waves that brushed the nape of her neck, golden highlights catching the light. Makeup was subtle except for the liner that made her green eyes sharper and the soft red lipstick John always said made him want to ruin it.
Behind her, the bathroom door opened. John stepped out, towel slung low on his hips, droplets of water glistening on his shoulders. At fifty-five, he was broad and solid, the lines around his eyes only deepening the quiet strength she had loved for decades. Her breath caught the way it always did when he looked at her like this, like she was the only woman in the world and he couldn’t quite believe she was his.
“Perfect timing, handsome,” she said, voice soft, a teasing smile curving her lips as she walked toward him. The faint floral warmth of her perfume mingled with the clean scent of his skin. She stopped close enough that the hem of her dress brushed his bare stomach. Fingertips trailed lightly down his chest, following a single droplet of water southward.
“I was hoping you’d come in before I finished dressing,” she said softly. Her eyes lifted to his. “I need your opinion.”
She turned slowly, letting him take in the full effect: the plunging back, the subtle sway of her hips, the soft rise of her breasts above the neckline. When she faced him again, a shy flush warmed her cheeks.
“Too much?” she asked, quieter now, vulnerability threading the words. “Or… just enough to make someone notice tonight?”
John inhaled sharply, the familiar scent of her perfume filling his lungs. The light trail of her fingers down his chest sent heat straight to his groin; he felt himself harden beneath the towel as she turned for him.
“I’ll tell you what I think,” he said, voice low and playful. “I’m thinking about what might be under that dress tonight, and I won’t be the only one.”
He reached for her hips, pulling her gently against him. “It’s perfect.”
She laughed softly, husky, tilting her head to look up at him through her lashes.
“Only one man gets to find out what’s under this dress tonight,” she murmured, pressing closer until the fabric brushed the growing ridge beneath his towel. “And he’s standing right in front of me.”
Her hands slid up his chest again, fingertips circling slowly. “Perfect,” she echoed, softer, “because I want to feel beautiful for you first. And maybe just a little bit naughty because you’re watching.”
She stepped closer, palms settling on his bare chest, feeling the quick thud of his heart beneath her hands.
“Because tonight feels like the first little step, John. And I want to feel beautiful for you: knowing you’re watching, knowing whatever tiny flutter happens out there is only going to bring me racing back into these arms.”
She rose on her toes, brushing a slow, lingering kiss just below his jaw, then said against his skin, “Tell me what you’re feeling right now, darling. Nervous? Excited? Both?”
Her eyes met his, open and trusting, as her thumbs traced idle circles just above the towel knot.
“Both,” he admitted, gaze locked with hers. “Nervous. Excited. Both.”
Erica’s heart fluttered at the unfiltered honesty in his voice. She nodded, letting him see the same feelings mirrored in her own eyes.
Then his expression turned serious, loving. “Do you remember the rules we agreed on?”
A small, wicked smile touched her lips. She stepped back just enough to take his hands in hers, threading their fingers.
“I remember everyone,” she said steadily. “We wrote them together, after all.”
She listed them softly, like shared vows.
“One: we stay in the same room the whole time. You’ll always be able to see me, and I’ll always be able to find your eyes. Two: flirting is welcome – smiles, conversation, maybe even a dance if it feels natural – but nothing more physical than a polite touch on the arm or back. No kissing anyone else,” the wicked smile broadening, “tonight. Three: if either of us feels even the tiniest bit off, we say ‘fireplace,’ and we leave immediately. No questions. Four: every little moment that sends a thrill through me, I share with you later – every look, every compliment – while you undress me and remind me who I belong to.”
She brought his hands to her lips, kissing his knuckles one by one.
“And five: no matter what does or doesn’t happen, we come home together, climb into our bed, and make love like we can’t get close enough.”
John watched her, eyes shining. When she finished, he lifted his phone, waving it gently.
“You forgot one,” he said, voice tender. “Your lifeline. And my permission line.”
Erica laughed, breathy and a little sheepish, stepping closer again.
“You’re right. Rule six: I text you the moment anything makes my heart flutter. And if I’m ever tempted to push past our boundaries, I ask you first. Always.”
He paused, his tone shifting more serious but laced with love. “I think we should add another: only two alcoholic drinks each, so we maintain judgment?”
She tilted her head up, eyes shining with affection and a hint of playful heat.
“Yes,” she added immediately, voice softening, “only two drinks each. I love that you’re thinking about keeping us clear-headed. I want every decision tonight to feel completely ours, no haze, just us choosing this together.”
She rose on her toes, pressing a slow kiss to his lips.
“Seven rules now,” she said against his mouth. “All designed to keep me safe, and to keep bringing me straight back to you.”
Her hands slid to his waist, thumbs tracing damp skin, and she pulled back just enough to hold his gaze one last time.
“So, are you sure, John? Because the second we walk out that door, this becomes real. Tiny and gentle, but real.”
She let him see everything: the excitement, the nerves, the absolute trust.
“And if you are,” her voice dropped to a shy, eager murmur, “then kiss me like you’re already imagining how you’ll reclaim me later. So, I carry that promise with me all night.”
John’s answer was immediate. His hands cupped her face, tilting her mouth to his, and he kissed her deeply, slow at first, then hungry, possessive, pouring every ounce of love and anticipation into it until they were both breathing hard. When he finally released her, his eyes burned.
“I’m sure,” he said, voice rough. “Go put your heels on, love. Let’s take our first step.”
John watched her slip the black heels on, the quiet click of each strap fastening like a heartbeat counting down. When she straightened, the dress settled a fraction higher on her thighs, and the line of her legs made his mouth dry. She caught his stare in the mirror and smiled, small, brave, a little wicked. He pulled on dark trousers and a charcoal shirt, sleeves rolled once, the way she liked. No tie tonight; nothing that said “married man on guard.” Just a husband who trusted his wife enough to let her glow for someone else, and trusted himself enough to watch. They met at the bedroom door. Erica took his hand, lacing their fingers tight.
“Last chance to change your mind,” half teasing, half pleading.
John brushed his thumb across her knuckles. “Not changing mine. Only adding to the rules if we need to.”
She nodded, then drew a slow breath. “I’m scared I’ll get too carried away and forget to text you. Or that I’ll feel guilty the second someone’s hand touches my back.”
“And I’m scared I’ll love it too much,” he admitted, voice low. “Scared the jealousy will taste better than I expect, and I’ll want more tomorrow than I want tonight.”
They stood in the hush, letting the truth settle between them like incense. Erica lifted his hand and pressed it over her heart; he could feel the frantic flutter beneath silk and skin.
“Feel that? That’s for you. Every extra beat tonight is borrowed excitement I’m bringing home to spend on you.”
John swallowed, eyes darkening. “Then borrow as much as you need, love. Just keep the receipt.”
She laughed, soft and shaky, then rested her forehead against his.
“Seven rules,” she repeated, like a prayer. “Same room. Polite touches only. Fireplace. Text lifeline. Two drinks. Permission before anything new. And always, always back to you.”
He added one more, voice rough with love. “Eight: if either of us feels even a flicker of real hurt, we say it out loud. No pretending later.”
“Eight,” she echoed, sealing it with a kiss that tasted of lipstick and nerves and promise.
They stepped into the hallway holding hands, the click of her heels on hardwood the only sound until they reached the front door. John grabbed their coats. Erica paused, one last look up at him.
“Tiny step,” she said.
“Giant love,” he answered.
Outside, the cold December air kissed her bare back and shoulders, raising gooseflesh that had nothing to do with the weather. John draped her coat around her but left it open, fingers brushing the exposed skin at the base of her spine.
“Your first stranger gets to see this,” he said quietly against her ear as the taxi pulled up. “And I get to watch him want what’s mine.”
Erica shivered, heat flooding low in her belly. She slid into the back seat first. John followed, hand settling possessively on her thigh the moment the door shut. As the city lights began to slide past the windows, she rested her head on his shoulder and felt the tremor in his breathing match her own. Real had already started.
The wine bar glowed amber under low pendant lights, the slow curl of a saxophone threading through murmured conversation and the soft clink of glasses. New Year’s Eve crowds filled the room without crushing it; there was space to breathe, space to be seen. John guided Erica inside with a hand at the small of her back, fingers brushing bare skin where the dress dipped low. The touch grounded her as the warmth of the room kissed the chill from her shoulders. They paused just past the door, scanning.
“Table near the bar?” he said quietly against her ear.
She nodded, pulse already quickening. “Perfect view.”
They chose a high-top tucked against the wall, close enough to the long brass rail for her to venture alone, far enough that John could settle there and keep her in his direct line of sight. The band eased into a languid “The Nearness of You,” and the notes felt like permission.
John helped her out of her coat, letting it linger on her shoulders a moment longer than necessary, his thumbs tracing the exposed line of her spine. When he finally slipped it free, several heads turned. Erica felt the attention settle on her skin like warm breath.
He leaned in. “You’re already the most beautiful woman in the room.”
Her cheeks warmed. “Flatterer.”
“Truth-teller,” he corrected, brushing a kiss to her temple. “Go order yourself a drink. I’ll flag the waitress for mine.”
Erica drew a steadying breath, smoothed invisible wrinkles from her dress, and walked the short distance to the bar. The sway of her hips felt different tonight: deliberate, offered. She felt John’s gaze on her back like a tether. She leaned against the polished wood, waiting for the bartender. Within moments, a man to her left shifted closer – mid-forties, tailored shirt open at the collar, dark hair silvering at the temples. He had the easy confidence of someone used to being noticed, but his smile was polite, not presumptuous.
“Mind if I squeeze in?” he asked, gesturing to the small gap. “Crowded night.”
“Not at all,” she answered, voice steady despite the flutter low in her belly.
He ordered a bourbon, neat, then glanced at her. “You look like you’re celebrating something.”
She smiled, small and genuine. “New beginnings, maybe.”
His eyes warmed. “Dangerous things, those.” He extended a hand. “David.”
“Erica.” She shook it, briefly and warmly, his fingers lingering just long enough to register.
Back at the table, John caught a passing waitress’s eye and ordered a whiskey. His attention never left Erica. Her phone buzzed against her thigh.
John: He’s already looking at you like he wants to memorise you. Good choice, love.
She bit her lip to hide the grin, typing one-handed while David waited.
Me: Heart racing already. He’s charming.
John: Good. Breathe. I’m right here.
David turned back as the bartender set down her glass of red. “Let me get that,” he said easily. “Consider it a toast to new beginnings.”
Erica hesitated a fraction of a second, eyes flicking to John. He gave the smallest nod, eyes dark with heat.
“Thank you,” she said, accepting the glass David slid toward her. Their fingers brushed – deliberate this time – and a spark shot straight between her legs.
David lifted his bourbon. “To dangerous things.”
She clinked her glass against his, holding John’s gaze over David’s shoulder as she sipped.
The first tentative step had been taken. The room felt suddenly smaller, warmer, charged with possibility. And John hadn’t looked away once.
David leaned an elbow on the bar, angling his body toward her without crowding. The conversation started easily: work, travel, favourite hidden spots in the city. Erica laughed at something he said about Paris in the rain, the sound genuine, lighter than she expected. Every time she smiled, she felt John’s eyes on her, steady, warm, possessive. Her phone vibrated.
John: Your laugh just made three other men turn.
She glanced over. He raised his glass a fraction, eyes dark with pride and something hungrier.
Me: He asked what brought me here tonight. I said, “Celebrating with my husband.” He looked surprised.
John: Good girl. Let him wonder.
David noticed the phone. “Popular tonight?”
“Just checking in,” she said, slipping it back into her clutch. “And letting my husband know I’m behaving.”
A slow smile spread across David’s face. “And are you?”
The band shifted into something slower, heavier on the bass. Couples drifted toward the small cleared space in front of the stage. David tilted his head. “Dance?”
Erica’s pulse spiked. She looked straight at John. He gave one deliberate nod, the corner of his mouth lifting. She turned back to David. “I’d love to.”
David offered his hand. She took it, letting him lead her the few steps to the floor. His palm was warm against hers, guiding without gripping. They found a spot near the edge, close enough for John to see every detail. He settled one hand lightly at her waist, the other holding hers at shoulder height. Polite distance at first. The music wrapped around them, slow and smoky.
“You move like you’ve done this before,” he said near her ear.
“Only with one man for a very long time,” she answered, soft enough that only he heard.
His thumb brushed the bare skin just above the dress’s low back, accidental, maybe. A shiver raced down her spine. She felt it instantly between her legs, a warm, liquid rush. Her phone buzzed in her clutch, but she couldn’t reach it. She looked over David’s shoulder and found John’s eyes. He lifted a brow in silent question. She smiled, small and bright, and mouthed, I’m okay.
David spun her gently; when she came back into his arms, the distance had shrunk. His hand settled a fraction lower, fingertips resting at the curve where back met hip. Within rules. Polite. But her nipples tightened against the silk of her dress.
The song ended. They could have stopped. Instead, the band slid straight into another slow one, and neither moved to leave. David’s hand slid an inch lower, palm now fully on the bare skin at the base of her spine. Warm. Steady. She felt the subtle pressure guiding her closer until her breasts brushed his chest with each sway. Her breath caught. She glanced toward John again. He hadn’t moved, whiskey glass forgotten in his hand. His gaze burned.
David felt the shift in her body. “Everything all right?”
“Perfect,” she breathed.
His thumb traced a small circle just above the dress’s edge. The touch was light, almost innocent, but it lit her up. Heat pooled low and insistent. She leaned in the tiniest bit, letting her hip graze the front of his trousers. He was half-hard already. The knowledge sent a fresh pulse of wetness between her thighs. Her phone buzzed again – twice this time.
When the song finally faded, David guided her back toward the bar, hand lingering at her lower back until the very last second.
Me: His hand was lower during the second dance. Thumb circling. I felt him against me.
John: I saw. Fuck, Erica. Game on.
Me: So wet for you already.
John: Come sit with me for a minute. Then go back if you want.
She excused herself from David with a smile and a promise of “one more later.” Her legs felt unsteady as she crossed the short distance to John. He pulled out the stool beside him. She sat, thighs pressing together to ease the ache.
John’s voice was rough, barely audible over the music. “Tell me.”
“His hand was warm. Lower than the first dance. I felt him hard when we swayed.” Her words came out breathless. “I kept looking at you the whole time.”
He reached under the table, fingers sliding high on her bare thigh, stopping just beneath the hem of her dress. “These panties are soaked, aren’t they?”
She nodded, biting her lip.
“Good,” he said, squeezing once before letting go. “Go back. One more dance. Let him feel how ready you are, for me.”
Erica stood on trembling legs and returned to David. The third dance started before she reached him; he met her halfway, hand already extended. This time, there was no pretence of distance. He drew her in close, palm flat and possessive against the bare skin of her lower back. She let her body mould to his, breasts against his chest, hips aligned. The music was slower, dirtier. His thigh slid between hers on the next turn, the pressure deliberate. She gasped softly, clutching his shoulder.
David’s lips brushed her ear. “You’re trembling.”
“Am I?” she managed.
His hand drifted lower, fingertips grazing the very top curve of her ass, technically on bare back, within their rules, but pushing the edge. She didn’t stop him.
Across the room, John watched every second, one hand tight around his glass, the other beneath the table, adjusting himself. Erica locked eyes with him over David’s shoulder. She let her hips roll once, slow and deliberate, pressing her damp heat against David’s thigh. David’s breath hitched; his grip tightened.
She mouthed to John, “I love you.”
He mouthed back: Mine.
The song crested. David’s hardness pressed unmistakably against her belly now. She felt powerful, desired, filthy, and completely tethered to the man watching her surrender just enough. When the final note faded, David released her slowly, reluctantly. “Your husband’s a lucky man,” he said again, voice husky.
Erica smiled, flushed and radiant. “He knows.”
She walked back to John on legs that barely held her, every step reminding her how slick she was, how close she hovered to the edge. John stood as she reached him, hand already out.
“Time to go home,” he said quietly.
She nodded, heart pounding. The escalation had done its work. They were both shaking with it now.
John paid the tab with a nod to the waitress and stood. Erica slipped her hand into his without a word. They collected their coats, but neither bothered to put them on. The night air outside would feel good against overheated skin.
David watched them leave. His eyes lingered on Erica’s bare back one last time, a faint smile touching his mouth as he lifted his glass in silent salute. John met his gaze across the room – steady, acknowledging – and gave the smallest nod. Thank you. And goodbye.
In the taxi, the city blurred past in streaks of light. Erica’s thigh pressed hard against John’s, her coat draped uselessly over her lap. The driver’s eyes stayed politely forward. John’s hand slid beneath the coat, fingers tracing the inside of her knee, then higher. When he reached the lace edge of her panties, he paused.
“Tell me again,” he said, voice rough.
“His hand was almost on my ass,” she murmured, thighs parting for him. “I let him pull me so close I felt how hard he was. Every time he pressed against me, I thought of you watching.”
John’s fingers slipped under damp lace, finding her slick and swollen. She bit back a moan as he circled her clit once, slow.
“And you stayed right on the edge of our rules,” he said quietly. “My good, filthy wife.”
“Yes,” she breathed. “All for you.”
He withdrew his hand just as she started to rock against it. “Not yet.”
The taxi pulled up outside their house. John paid quickly and guided her up the path, one arm banded around her waist like he couldn’t wait another second. Inside, the door had barely shut before he had her pressed against it, mouth claiming hers in a kiss that tasted of whiskey and desperate hunger. Coats fell to the floor. He broke away only long enough to look at her: flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes glassy with need.
“Couch,” he growled. “Now.”
Erica walked ahead of him, hips swaying, knowing he watched every step. She stopped at the wide leather couch – the same one where she had first whispered the fantasy weeks ago – and turned to face him. John was already unbuttoning his shirt. She reached behind for her zipper, but he shook his head.
“No. I undress you.”
He closed the distance in three strides, hands sliding up her bare arms, over her shoulders, down the plunging back of the dress. His mouth followed the path, open kisses along her spine until she shivered violently. When he reached the zipper, he drew it down slowly, teeth grazing skin as fabric parted. The dress slid from her shoulders and pooled at her feet, leaving her in black lace panties and heels. John stepped back, eyes raking over her. His cock strained against his trousers, unmistakable.
“Look at you,” he said, voice thick. “Glowing from another man’s hands. Dripping for me.”
Erica’s breathing quickened. She reached for him, but he caught her wrists, guiding her backward until her thighs hit the couch. He pressed her down gently, following until he knelt between her spread legs. One swift tug and her panties were gone. He spread her wide, thumbs parting slick folds.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “So wet. This is what his touch did to you?”
“Yes,” she gasped. “But only because you let him.”
John groaned, low and guttural. He dove in without hesitation, mouth sealing over her clit, tongue dragging through her wetness in long, hungry strokes. Erica cried out, hips bucking off the couch. He devoured her with relentless focus: circling, sucking, two fingers sliding deep and curling exactly where she needed. Her hands fisted in his hair, heels digging into the leather. Within minutes, she was trembling on the edge.
“John… please…”
He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “Come for me,” he commanded. “Show me how much you’re mine.”
She came undone instantly, back arching, a shattered cry tearing from her throat as pleasure crashed through her in rolling waves. John worked her through every spasm, licking softly until she sagged, boneless. Then he rose, stripping off the rest of his clothes with urgent hands. His cock sprang free: thick, hard, a bead of pre-cum already glistening at the tip.
Erica reached for him, legs trembling. “Inside me. Now.”
He didn’t make her wait. One hand guided himself to her entrance; the other braced beside her head. He entered her in one demanding thrust, burying himself completely. They both groaned at the perfect, wet heat of it.
“Fuck, Erica,” he rasped, seated deep. “I’ve never wanted you more.”
He began to move. rough from the start, driving into her with possessive need, each thrust rocking the couch. She wrapped her legs around his waist, heels digging into his back, meeting every stroke.
“Every time his hand moved lower,” she confessed between gasps, “I imagined it was yours guiding me. Telling me I was yours to share, and yours to take back.”
John’s rhythm faltered for a second, a guttural sound escaping him.
“Every time I felt him hard against me,” she went on, words trembling, “I ached for this, for you reminding me who I belong to.”
He drove deeper, faster, one hand sliding between them to work tight circles over her clit.
“Mine,” he growled. “Always fucking mine.”
“Yes,” she sobbed, walls clenching around him. “Harder, John. Make me feel you for days.”
He obliged, pounding into her with consuming, possessive need. The slap of skin on skin filled the room, mingling with their ragged breaths and broken moans.
Erica came again suddenly, violently, clenching around him in hard spasms, crying out his name as tears pricked her eyes from the intensity. John followed seconds later, burying himself deep and emptying into her in thick pulses, her name torn from his throat as his body shook with release. They collapsed together, trembling through the aftershocks, damp bodies pressed together, hearts hammering in sync.
When the waves finally eased, John didn’t pull out. He lowered himself gently, careful of his weight, and cupped her face. Tears glistened on her lashes. One slipped down her temple.
“I love you,” she said, voice cracked with emotion. “More than I can measure.”
He brushed the tear away with his thumb, eyes suspiciously bright.
“I love you too,” he said, voice rough. “In ways that fill every corner of me.”
Erica smiled through the tears, clenching softly around him where he was buried inside her.
“Stay,” she murmured. “Just like this. Full of you.”
John rested his forehead against hers, breathing her in.
“Forever,” he promised.
They lay tangled on the couch, the fire long dead in the hearth across the room, only embers glowing faintly. John remained inside her, softening slowly but unwilling to separate. Erica’s legs loosely wrapped around his hips, heels hooked at the small of his back, holding him close. Her fingers traced idle patterns through the sweat-damp hair at his nape. Their breathing had finally slowed, chests rising and falling together.
John lifted his head first, studying her face. Tears had left faint tracks down her temples into her hair; her eyes were bright, glassy, utterly open.
“I meant it,” he said quietly, voice hoarse from crying her name. “I’ve never wanted you more than I did tonight. Watching you come alive like that, then coming back to me.”
Erica’s throat worked. Fresh tears welled, but she smiled through them.
“I felt you the whole time,” she breathed. “Every second his hands were on me, I was thinking how proud you looked. How safe you made me feel. How much I couldn’t wait to get home and give it all to you.”
He brushed a tear away with his thumb, then kissed the path it had taken.
“Tell me the parts that scared you,” he said. Not a demand, just a gentle request, needing to know.
She drew a shaky breath. “That I’d like the attention too much. That you’d see something in my eyes you didn’t recognize. That we’d get in the taxi, and the silence would feel different.”
John nodded, eyes never leaving hers. “And the parts that felt good?”
A soft laugh escaped her, half sob. “All of it. The way he looked at me like I was brand new. The way you looked at him, looking at me, like you were proud to let him see what he’d never have. The way my body responded. And knowing it was only ever going to bring me straight back here.”
He shifted slightly inside her, drawing a small gasp from them both. Both sensitive, bodies locked together.
“I felt jealousy,” he admitted, voice low. “Sharp little spikes every time his hand moved lower. But underneath it, god, Erica, the pride was bigger. The heat was bigger. Knowing you were choosing me every second you let him touch you.”
She clenched gently around him, a tender affirmation.
“I did choose you,” she said quietly. “Every breath. Every sway of my hips. Every time I looked across the room and found your eyes, I was saying, ‘This is for us.'”
John’s own eyes prickled. He pressed his forehead to hers.
“I saw it,” he said, voice cracking. “I saw you checking in with me. Smiling just for me. And when you walked back after that last dance.- legs shaking, cheeks flushed – I’ve never felt more in love with you.”
Erica cupped his face, thumbs stroking the lines at the corners of his eyes.
“I came straight back to you,” she said softly. “Because there was never any risk. My heart, my body, every flutter tonight, it all belongs to you. Has from the start. Will until the end.”
She kissed him then: slow, deep, tasting salt from both their tears. When she pulled back, her smile was sleepy, radiant.
“Tonight was perfect,” she said quietly. “Our first little step, and it only made me love you more.”
John eased out of her at last, both of them sighing at the loss. He reached for the soft throw draped over the couch back and pulled it over them, tucking her against his chest. Her dress lay crumpled on the floor; neither cared. He pressed a kiss to her temple, breathing her in: perfume faded, skin warm, the faint musk of their lovemaking.
“Sleep here a while,” he murmured. “I want to hold you just like this.”
Erica nestled closer, one leg draped over his, fingers tracing lazy hearts on his chest.
“Without question,” she echoed.
The house was quiet around them, the distant tick of the clock the only sound. Outside, the last hours of the old year slipped away, but inside something new and consuming had settled deep in their bones: stronger, brighter, unbreakable. They drifted off, bodies tangled, two hearts finding the same rhythm in the quiet dark.
