Claimed by the Fallen King
Our look, as I hold her in my arms for possibly the last time, is pained and passionate.
I pull her close, kissing her lips, trying to memorize her taste and her softness. She tries to pull back, and I let her. “Please,” I say so softly that I wonder if she heard me. But she did, and she knows what I’m asking, what I need.
So she leans back in, kissing me harder, deeper, rubbing against me through our clothes for this one last time together. I pick her up, never breaking our kiss as I lay her out on the coffee table, sliding the books on it to the floor with a sweep of my arm.
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