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My pulse ticks up a notch.

My chest begins to feel tighter.

Fuck. Don’t. Fucking DON’T.

But I feel myself starting to slip again.

The red wave seeping into my lungs.

The darkness swallowing me whole.

STOP. IT.

My hands tighten on her body, grounding myself. Keeping me here, with her, in this moment. Not back there.

Not in there.

Not drowning.

I close my eyes and focus on the feel of her skin under my touch. Her pulse under my fingertips. Her scent.

I exhale slowly, and the red wave recedes.

Bella’s nail keeps moving over my chest purposefully.

I cock a brow as I watch her.

“Are you drawing on me?”

“Yup.”

My mouth quirks into a smile. “What is it?”

She turns to grin mysteriously at me. “Airplane.”

I glance down at the invisible shape she’s been tracing on my skin.

“Uh…”

“It’s abstract, ass,” she giggles, swatting at me. “I’m in my Cubism phase.”

I chuckle deeply as I slide my hand absently across her bare shoulder blades.

Fuck, her skin feels good. She feels good. The heat of her body. The metal of her nipple piercings cool against my flesh. The loose strands of her hair tumbling over my shoulder.

And when she came for me…

Christ.

Contrary to Bella’s ongoing campaign to suggest otherwise, yes, I have slept with women before. But I’ve never once lost myself with someone the way I just did with her.

My fingertips trace over the smooth skin of her back.

“Who’s your favorite historical figure?”

My brow lifts at the question. “Hmm?”

“Your favorite person from history. They have to be dead.”