Page 58 of Drawn to Death
Something shifts in his expression. A crack in that careful composure he always wears. His movements change too, deepening. More deliberate. Each thrust becomes a statement. I rise to meet him, body and soul, the two of us locked in a rhythm that feels inevitable.
Pleasure builds, but it’s more than that. It's a connection. It’s belonging. It’s the certainty that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be, with the only person I want.
“Let go,” he whispers, lips brushing my ear. “I’ve got you. Always.”
That permission, to feel, to lose control, to just be, undoes me. Release crashes through me, sharp and overwhelming, and I let out a sound that’s half sob, half his name. He follows, body tensing above mine, face buried in my neck as he shudders through his own release.
Afterwards, everything is soft. Gentle kisses on my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. He lets his weight settle across me, not all the way, just enough that we’re still tangled together. I turn into his shoulder and realize my cheeks are wet. I’m crying. Silent tears soaking his skin.
His fingers trace the tears, concern shadowing his eyes. “Did I hurt you?”
I shake my head, smiling a little through the tears. “No. God, no.” I catch his hand and press it to my chest where my heart is still pounding. “It’s just… relief, I think. Like something locked up finally broke open.”
He nods, understanding without needing me to explain. That’s what I love most about him. He just knows me. He never pushes for more than I can give.
We stay like that, tangled together. My leg thrown over his. His arm curled around my shoulders. The sheets are a mess, twisted and damp, but neither of us cares. Outside, the ocean keeps up its endless conversation with the shore, waves rising and falling in the dark.
“For the first time in my life,” I murmur into his skin, “I’m not afraid of what comes next.”
His hand moves up and down my spine, slowly and soothing. “No more visions?”
“No more visions.” I press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “Just us. Just this.”
He pulls me closer, lips brushing my forehead. “Home,” he whispers. So softly I almost miss it, but the certainty in his voice hits me hard.
Home.
Not a place.
Not even this house by the sea, though it’s beautiful.
Home is this. His arms around me. His heartbeat under my ear. The quiet certainty that whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.
I close my eyes and let myself drift. No images wait for me now. No sketches behind my eyelids. No shadows reaching out with blood-stained hands.
Just silence. Peaceful. Chosen.
Just me. Whole. Present.
Alive in my own story.
