7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
London
T oday was hard.
Maison consumed my thoughts, and I cried for three hours straight, thinking about him, allowing myself to miss him. I waited for as long as I could, out by the snowy creek, until my toes were tingling and had lost all sensation, because this was the only time I could truly grieve him without Micah stealing my thoughts and dominating my reality. Even if it was pointless because it’s not like I’m any better, and I knew Micah would be angry with me for leaving, which is absurd considering he was gone for hours, too. I needed to heal, and while I knew Micah wouldn’t like it, I needed to try.
At this point, I’m not sure who’s sicker, me or Micah. I should say no to him, stop him from hurting me and shoving a gag in my mouth. Because I’m not sure this is something people our age are supposed to do, let alone admit that it excites me. Micah’s been breaking down these past couple of weeks, and seeing emotions inside him, anger or otherwise, is still better than watching him sitting by himself, carving wood and barely sleeping.
I enjoy the way he looks at me and how my heart pulses when he’s enraged, foaming at the mouth, staring down at me like I’m food. He isn’t Prince Charming—far from it—but he’s my version of it. My body serves as his connection to reality, preventing him from descending into the abyss of his tormented thoughts.
I relax my body, allowing myself to go slack while he manhandles me. Fighting Micah is futile as he holds my belly down with one hand. I lie in horror as he effortlessly grabs my wrists, wrapping a wire around them and tying a knot, like he’s used to kidnapping women on the regular.
I take a second to process what he’s doing, the fact that he’s actually restraining me. Heat pools between my legs and a flush hits my cheeks at how turned on I am by this. Of course, I am, because it’s Micah, and I’ve been attracted to him from the moment I laid eyes on him. The depth of my trust in him is evident in my desire to please him by letting him do whatever he wants to me.
He slowly and methodically positions me in a way that suits him. My legs spread open, my knees up, my arms bound behind me, and my body put on display and vulnerable, reminding me of the first time he ever fucked me while I was in his brother’s arms. He bites his lip, taking in my pebbled nipples. He grabs me and gives my ass a little smack. “Stay here, London. Don’t fucking move an inch. I want to admire you for a bit, baby.” His breath is raspy as he says it.
I stay deathly still, lying on the soft, furry wolf blanket he made me, but keep my eyes locked on him. Whatever he has planned, he isn’t in a hurry. He moves to the fireplace, throwing on a log and some fuel so the flames ignite and blow up. Heat rises to my face, and it’s a welcomed sensation in contrast to the chilliness lingering in the air. His muscles ripple beneath his smooth, olive skin under the darkening sky and flickering firelight. He emulates everything that is this cabin, shrouded in obscurity.
My god, he’s sexy.
He isn’t in a good headspace. His eyes are shadowed, like liquid onyx, and he appears disconnected from the world around him, except for his singular focus on me. I haven’t seen this side of him in a while, and I’ve only ever experienced it once. Something must have happened today beyond my need for a moment away from him .
He’s hurting… so deeply. I am part of the reason why he’s hurting, although there is nothing I can do to change that other than show him I am here for him in all the ways he needs me to be.
My hand starts to throb, so I shift a little, just enough to ease the pressure. He’s tidying the cabin now and pauses at my shifting, tilting his head as he beholds me. “I told you not to fucking move, London.”
I freeze, my heart pattering, and I swallow a lump in my throat. The way he says it, I don’t recognize him right now. Or maybe I do… It was his darkness that originally drew me to him; I was attracted to his story when I agreed to come on this trip to begin with. I plead through my eyes as he pierces me with a dark stare, then continues cleaning, ignoring me.
Obsessively cleaning.
I shift again, my hand now on fire. He walks over to me, crawling onto the bed and finally giving me the attention I’ve been begging for since he started admiring me.
He draws his chin to the side. “Does your hand hurt, baby?” he asks darkly.
Now he cares? I dare not tell him to stop, even though I should, because Micah doesn’t make idle threats. I don’t tell him my hand is throbbing, shooting pain into my shoulder. I’m not sure how far he’s going to take this.
Would he stop?
He ponders for a moment. “Do you want me to untie you, London?”
He must sense my hesitation because he arches his sexy brows as if daring me to say anything. We haven’t discussed what we are about to do. We’ve teased it. He’s given me those bruises, and I asked for them. But it hasn’t gone further than that, and we haven’t talked about boundaries.
Are those even relevant now?
I shake my head and glimpse a hint of a smile on his lips. Dark, raw emotion.
I choke on my breath. What if this is what he wants, and he keeps me like this forever? I peer at him, telling myself this is just him fulfilling a sexual fantasy, that he doesn’t mean it and would never actually tie me up in real life .
My skin radiates heat and vibrates with primal lust, every inch of my body craving him. I need this more than anything. I want to absorb all his rage and anger. He isn’t the only one with darkness; it’s inside me, too, and I’m slowly slipping into the void. When I slip entirely into it, I want us to at least be together.
I moan as his fingers tease my stomach, my breasts. He curves his fingers and gently pulls my hair, tying it up so it’s out of my face, then wipes a bead of sweat from my brow.
Every second, every slight tickle of his body against mine sends my senses into overdrive. He leans over me and kisses my forehead before placing a shirt around my eyes, as if the gag in my mouth and the wire around my wrists weren’t enough.
My world becomes black.
“Bite down on your gag,” he warns. Seconds later, a sizzling burn hits the skin of my inner thigh, and I squeak and flail. He keeps the heat on my skin for what feels like an eternity, pinning me in place with one firm hand so I don’t shatter my wrists.
Ash … The fucker burned me.
I bite hard, chewing the inside of my cheek. A few seconds later, he rubs a piece of snow on the blister, and the pain subsides. I’m left with something unexpected—raw euphoria. Heat explodes in my belly, right between my legs. Another mark, another notch on his belt.
I want more. My pain has become so constant that I need it like a drug to merely exist.
More fire, more pain, more heightened emotions.
My body pleads for him. I let out a long breath through my nose, trying to contain the beating of my heart. I arch my back, wanting and expecting more, as if we are precisely the missing puzzle pieces in each other’s existence. It’s deliciously terrifying.
His hands find my hips, and I lean into him, hoping he’ll at least put his mouth on me after what he just did. He shuffles his body down. The electric current of his lips is so close, the kiss of his breath tickling my skin. Then… he abruptly stops. He pulls a blanket over my legs, rises, and wordlessly leaves the cabin, shooting an icy breeze that teases my bare skin as the door creaks behind him.
Fucker.
The gag is so tight that I barely manage an audible moan. He is going to leave me tied up like this and do absolutely nothing to me. He takes his time outside, then finally comes back in, humming to himself like a psycho. I use the opportunity to rest, keeping my eyes closed, even though I can’t see anything anyway. I drop my head down, positioning myself like a turtle on the bed, bound and extremely uncomfortable as he rustles around the cabin. It doesn’t take long for me to doze in and out of sleep, listening to the familiar, calming sounds of Micah working.
I shift my body carefully. My injured wrist doesn’t hurt if I don’t move it, so I lie utterly still, waiting for him and anticipating his plans for me. He grows quiet, so I listen to the snow falling.
And yes, I’ve come to learn that you can actually hear snow falling, and I don’t mean the wind, the rustle of the trees, or the crunch of footsteps on top of it. When it’s falling and you really listen, you can hear the millions of flakes as the snow blankets the ground. It’s crystalline and something I’ve never noticed while in the city. Only in Alaska can I truly appreciate the sound.
Finally, after about an hour of meticulously taking his time doing whatever he is doing, I sense his heavy presence crawl up beside me. His hand gently pulls the fabric from my mouth.
“Are you hungry, baby?” he asks, running his hand across my cheek.
My stomach has been grumbling for the past hour while waiting for him. I soften as his warm hands run up my arms. I suck in a breath, feeling a ripple of annoyance at how bored I’ve been. “Micah, what are you doing to me? I’m cold and tired. Please let me go.” I just want to lie down. He hasn’t touched me at all, and this is not how I thought my first experience of being tied up would go. Not that I ever thought any guy would tie me up or that I would want someone to, but here we are…
“Eat,” he demands .
“How long are you going to keep me like this?”
He shoves his fingers into my mouth. “Eat, London. You need food.” I lick his fingers, and a delicious earthy aroma hits my tastebuds. I almost die from the deliciousness of it. It’s spaghetti with marinara sauce, and I slurp down the noodle, savoring every salty bit of it. He’s been saving this spaghetti for a special occasion. I’ve wanted to eat it so badly for weeks now, but he wouldn’t let me.
He hand-feeds some more, and I moan at how wonderful the sensation of taste is when all my other senses are dulled. It’s the best meal I’ve had here. It even tastes better than those cold, canned beans I shoved into my mouth when he found me at the plane site after I ran away.
I chew and swallow, licking my lips for more. He slips another bite into my mouth, and I devour it like an animal. “Take your fill, sweetheart.” He chuckles.
I eat as much as he’s willing to give me, wondering what the catch is. He gives me a few more bites and says nothing. Then he grabs the water, pulls my head back softly, and pours some into my mouth.
My stomach is full, with no hunger pains left, and now all I want is him.
He shifts and shuffles, and finally, his warm skin presses against my cheek, his hard cock near my mouth teasing me. He slaps my cheek with it. “Are you still hungry?” he teases.
Still blindfolded, I reach for his cock with my tongue and find the salty tip, which I lick. I was craving it, actually, waiting for this.
“Yeah,” I breathe, instantly turned on again.
I’m surprised he even gave me something to eat first.
“Good. Because you’re going to be sucking for a while.”
Hmph. We’ll see about that…
Sucking him off proves more difficult with my wrists tied. I can’t do the things he likes with my hands, so I’m entirely reliant on my mouth. I suck as hard as I can, taking him as deep as possible while still trying to breathe. I can’t see his facial expressions—the ones he can’t control when I’m doing it right—so I wait until his muscled thighs tighten since that’s the only other body part I can feel right now. I dig in deep into my current motion of opening my throat.
He’s right… It takes me nearly half an hour of pure determination to get him off. And he doesn’t touch me, even though my pussy is throbbing the entire time, waiting for him.
He doesn’t even touch my breasts or my ass when his hands are usually all over me, and my nipples are tight like painful pebbles. I start to realize, ever so slowly, that this is part of my punishment, too.
He doesn’t make much noise, but I imagine the expression on his face. Eventually, he quivers and spills into my mouth, and I swallow it down.
“Fucking hell.” He rubs his hand along my tied-up injured arm. “That was so fucking good, baby. That was by far the best blow job I’ve ever had.” He takes a warm cloth and wipes my mouth while I fight the swell of pride rising within me. He runs his knuckles along my cheek. “So fucking pretty,” he whispers. “Such a perfect mouth.”
I moan from his praise; it makes every fiber of my being sing. My skin is on fire as he continues running his fingers down and pinches my nipples.
Finally touching me.
My breath is heavy as I shift from my position on my knees and lie back to rest my head despite the awkward position of my injured wrist. He takes that warm cloth and starts cleaning me. I’m not going to complain about it. This is much, much better than my state of despair earlier today when I was grieving. And I want to see what else he has in store for me now.
He runs his hand along my cheek, and I lean into his touch, wishing he would touch more of me. “You want more, sweetheart?”
This is why I think I’m sicker than he is. Because I do want more. I want everything Micah wants to give me. I want to surrender to him fully.
My body trembles as I whisper, “Please.”
He pulls my head back, gripping my hair in his hands.
“Please. Please. Please,” I beg harder, trying to swallow a lump in my throat .
“Good fucking girl,” he growls, my body inviting his, and I can hear the desperation in his voice, too.
This is a side of him I haven’t seen yet. In all our time together, it’s never been quite this dark. I start to wonder if, even though he’s asking, I really have a choice in the matter.
I hear him shuffling, his strong, warm hands grazing my face, and I realize he’s putting the gag back in my mouth. I flinch a little before his lips tickle my ear. “Trust me, baby, you’re going to need this. Is your hand okay?”
I nod, although it’s not okay. It fucking hurts and it’s throbbing, but not wanting to end this yet, I hide its true intensity.
Once my gag is securely back in place, I relax my head against the three logs of wood that make up the headboard. Slowly, he starts kissing my stomach, savoring every moment as he moves to my breasts and finally gives me the release I’ve been craving. Every part of my body dissolves in pleasure. Rising to his feet, he maintains a calm and composed tone.
“Here’s the rule, sweetheart. I’m going to kiss you now and slide my fingers inside you. You’re not allowed to come until I say you can, and if you do, I promise the punishment will hurt in a way that won’t make you moan. Do you understand?”
Shit, there is no way I can control that with him, and he knows it. It barely takes anything for me to get off with Micah. He touches me in one spot, and it happens.
“Nod if you understand, London.”
I force myself to swallow and respond with a nod. As he runs his fingers along my sides, my heart pounds with more intensity than I’ve ever experienced with him before. It’s as if I suddenly don’t recognize the person I’ve spent the last six weeks with. The voice is his, but his body is different. His energy has intensified, and my heart rate spikes.
I shake my head, not wanting to play anymore, moaning and shaking for him to free me. He slips my gag out.
“What is it?” he asks, and the sound of his voice instantly soothes me. It’s Micah; he isn’t some crazed lunatic .
“Micah, I don’t want to do this anymore,” I breathe out. “You’re scaring me. What happened to you today?”
He pulls off my blindfold, and I see his perfect dark eyes, his pouty lips, and a soft, pained expression on his face rather than the hard one I was expecting. His hair falls in soft waves above his dark eyes. He wipes a bit of sweat off my brow and the tear running down my cheek with his thumb.
“Will you tell me what happened to you today? Did you see something ?” Did you see him? is what I want to ask.
He kisses me now, strong and hard. “Remember what I told you,” he says, then pulls back, blatantly ignoring my question. “Don’t come, sweetheart, or you’re mine.”
I’m already his, so I’m confused about what exactly he is referring to. He slides his tongue inside my mouth. My body heats in response as he crawls in next to me, grabbing my injured wrist as if just remembering it might hurt.
“Micah, please, answer me,” I say in a meek voice. “Then you can do whatever you want to me.”
A pause, and then he says, “Nothing’s happening to me, London. I just want to do things to you that I haven’t wanted to do to anyone else, and since we are going to die soon, I don’t want to wait any longer. Do you trust me?”
Implicitly.
My voice comes out hushed and slightly broken. “Yeah, I trust you, Micah, with my life. I’m just worried about you.” I shouldn’t trust him—he’s losing his mind. I don’t understand the sudden panic, why he thinks we are going to keel over and die. We still have plenty of food, and spring isn’t that far away.
“Do you want to stay here with me?”
“Yes, of course I do.”
Why is he asking me this?
“Then close your eyes, sweetheart. This will feel better if you can’t see what I’m doing.” He puts my blindfold back on but, luckily, doesn’t gag my mouth again.
“Remember what I said. Don’t come, no matter how badly you want to. ”
My body tingles, and I try to ignore the already aching pain in my core. Micah’s fingers barely tickle my thighs, and I let out a giggle.
“Quit giggling. This isn’t funny.”
“It’s a little bit funny,” I breathe.
“I’ll put your gag back on if you don’t take this seriously.”
I suppress my laughter, shifting it to a mischievous grin. “What am I supposed to do?” I ask, wiggling on the bed as he runs his hands up and down my inner thighs and rubs his finger over the tender spot he burned.
“Relax your body and quit kicking so much.”
I hadn’t realized I was kicking, but even his soft tickles are making my body scream.
He runs his tongue along the same line he made with his fingers on my thigh and finally presses one finger inside me.
“Be strong, baby,” he encourages, angling his finger in the way I like before adding another.
I’m so hungry for him that I clench around his fingers. As he presses down on my belly with his other hand, he leans down to kiss me. The motion is just right, and a little tingle runs through me. A tiny orgasm, hardly noticeable.
He pulls his lips from my mouth. “You fucking suck, London.”
I loosen a breath. “I… I didn’t. I swear.”
“I know what your ‘O’ face looks like, baby. You fucking came, don’t lie to me.”
I shift uncomfortably, waiting for him to say something else. The wind picks up outside, along with my breath, and the draft that hits the bed causes goosebumps on my skin and sends a shiver up my spine.
“What are you going to do to me now, Micah?”
He pulls me down and positions his head between my legs before peering up at me through the gap between my thighs. “I’m going to fucking torture you, baby. And when I’m done, I’m going to take your ass.”
He’s going to take my ass?
I don’t even understand what that means. Is my ass even big enough for him to take? My knees squeeze Micah’s shoulders as he holds them firmly with both hands while his tongue laps up my folds and his teeth lightly scrape my clit.
I can’t think. I can’t process anything other than his mouth on me as my body tightens and the heat of my blood explodes through my veins. The sensation hits every nerve and limb, each toe and finger. My breasts are painfully swollen, my nipples raw from where he’s been biting me for the last hour. The crippling fear of what he is planning to do to me afterward is still there, though.
Anal sex? Is that something I can do?
“Micah,” I beg, if that’s what you want to call it. I stopped begging him after ten minutes when I realized what he was doing. Now the sounds that come out of me are more like Mmm and Aaah noises that sort of resemble his name. I can’t seem to catch my breath. “Please… I can’t…”
I orgasm easily, I realize, and the human body can only sustain so many in a short period. Because this is torturous, in a very delicious and fucked-up way. My body doesn’t decline between each orgasm as you think it would, and Micah’s relentless with his mouth and fingers, only giving me a short few seconds before he keeps going. I’ve yet to fully climax. Sometimes, he changes things up, giving my mouth what it wants and pressing his lips to mine while keeping his fingers inside me.
He hasn’t spoken to me since he started, ignoring my silent pleas, keeping me bound. Any time I try to squirm, he’s there, holding me down and forcing it. He’s still extremely gentle with me through every touch and every lick, as if my body is his temple .
It’s not long until he’s back down on my clit, pressing his tongue on my sensitive spot. It’s so intense that my body finally gives up. He eases off me, chuckling. “Have you had enough, sweetheart?” After I catch my breath, he brings his lips to mine. “Taste yourself. Experience how fucking delicious you are.” He slips his tongue inside my mouth, and I bite his lip, tasting my own wetness, my lips lingering for as long as he lets me.
He runs his fingers through my now extremely knotted hair and pulls off my blindfold. His dark brows are arched, and he’s smiling, looking very pleased with himself. His face is certainly one I will never forget. Even in death, I can’t imagine not seeing him every time I close my eyes, touch myself, or clench any part of my body. If I were to die before him on this island, my ghost would forever haunt him just to be near him.
He owns me…
He nibbles on my ear as my body seems to mold into his like I’m made of liquid.
“Micah,” I whisper once I’ve caught my breath.
“London.”
“Is this real?” I could very well be dead, and this is some sort of purgatory, caught between heaven and hell—the best parts of both.
He snickers, and he finds his way to my lips. “Yeah, sweetheart, it’s real.” He climbs on top of me, and I wrap my legs around him.
He licks his lips, and I gasp as he grabs the knife on the side of the bed. He expertly snips my binds, finally freeing my hands, the red welts on each wrist pulsing. I forgot that pain…
The fire crackles and pops, sending a red ember across the room. I forgot about that pain, too. I crumble into his waiting arms, having no fucking clue what time it is.
“I’m going to fuck you now, London. I want you to watch me while you climax, baby. I want to feel your breath on my skin and your heart beating, every part of you that makes you alive, okay?” He finally pulls my knees up, one by one. His motions are so composed. However, he can’t hide the desperation in his words. His muscled body presses into mine, and he finally starts fucking me the way my body has been begging him to.
His cock is smooth as he slides inside me, my pussy ready for him. It takes me no time to hit my climax. I hardly recognize the moans that come out of my mouth as my body explodes into a nearly painful release. I keep my eyes open and on his the whole time.
Our breaths mingle as he rolls off me, pulling the blanket over his back, covering both of us. He gives my forehead a quick kiss and turns me on my stomach as I lie panting beneath him. After a few minutes, he gives my ass a little slap, shifting his attention there.
My stomach clenches…
He isn’t fucking done. He never came; he hasn’t even come close to climaxing.
It’s dark inside now, just a small flicker of light from the fire he made earlier, which is dying out. The snow is coming down heavily outside. The small view of the outside I have from our bed reminds me of how alone and secluded we are.
Stranded.
I keep my attention on the outside and try to ignore what he is about to do.
He gently spreads my ass open and slowly slides a finger inside, then another.
My entire body tenses. “Micah… I don’t think I can do this.”
His lips brush against my ear. “You don’t have a choice, baby, so relax.”
I bite my lip as his fingers make gentle circles. “So fucking tight,” he says, and I wonder how many times he’s thought about doing this to me. I never thought I would ever do something like this with anyone. Ever.
“I don’t think I’m big enough,” I say, hoping he will change his mind. He merely snickers, then reaches out and grabs something from his side of the bed.
A bottle of lube?
Did he bring lube to Alaska to use on someone who wasn’t me? My entire body bristles in jealousy at the thought of who he was planning on using that on .
“I found it in someone’s luggage,” he says as if reading my thoughts. “I never told you because you’re always so fucking wet and never need it.”
This appeases me for a moment as I attempt to relax, trying to make sense of the feelings coursing through me. But my body is tense. I’m not sure this is something I am capable of.
“Breathe, London. I don’t want to tie you up again. I want you to do this willingly.”
I breathe deeply as I focus on the fur of the wolf blanket, how soft it is and how much I love the guy who made it for me.
His fingers dig deeper, spreading out my ass further. He grabs a fresh cloth from ripped-up clothing and cleans me, then spreads some more. “Good fucking girl. Open up for me, baby. You’re so strong, London. We have all night to get this right.”
I’ve dealt with pain, and I told him on countless occasions that I could handle him. This is my chance to prove it. “You promise that it won’t hurt?” I whisper to him.
He chuckles. “No. It probably will.”
My breath hitches as he starts slowly, pressing the tip of his cock inside me after covering it in lube. Ever so slightly, he pushes himself deeper inside, and I seem to wrap around him, my body inviting the length of him instead of fighting against it like I thought it would.
Because I belong to him. I was made for him.
But it still fucking hurts.
I let myself go to the pain. With each touch, he evokes all the hurt, anguish, sorrow, and grief I’ve ever experienced. It’s as if I can finally acknowledge it—manage it—in a way I couldn’t before. He claims me, taking me gently until he’s so deep that his entire body over mine is rocking back and forth. He fucks me like this for a while, slow and sensual, doing his best not to hurt me, kissing my neck, and breathing whispers of reassurance. A slow swell of pleasure rocks through me, shooting to my very core. The orgasm is just as intense as the others. I can barely make audible noises at this point as I muffle my breaths into the blanket .
He finishes relatively quickly, and I get a huge rush of satisfaction when his body comes undone, his breath so heavy and labored. He swears as he climaxes and keeps his hands gentle on me, not once doing anything that would truly hurt me.
I’ve unraveled him.
Every part of my body is throbbing now, even parts I never expected would be stimulated quite like that. He pulls off me, grabs some water and starts washing me again, wiping away all the sweat and sticky heat that came out of me. When I turn around and face him, he seems much cleaner than I do. It probably looks like I just went through a meat grinder and got spit out on the other side.
He cups his hands over my face and leans his forehead against mine before helping me put a shirt on. He cuddles up next to me, pulling me as close to him as possible. I can’t talk; I have no words left, barely any coherent thoughts.
I close my eyes and finally let sleep take me, and I can’t help the swelling of emotions that overtake me.
Grief, love, pain.
All of it.
“London,” Micah whispers as the final bits of embers die in the fire and the shadows take over.
“Yeah,” I whisper back, my body so relaxed and calm.
“Are you ever going to leave like that again?”
I swallow hard and squeeze my eyes shut. “No, Micah. I won’t do that again. I promise that I won’t ever leave you.”
His fingers dig into me ever so slightly. “Will you marry me, baby? When we get out of here, I want you to be mine forever.”
My body and mind jolt awake, and I turn to face him. His dark stare is as serious as I’ve ever seen it. His eyebrows are furrowed together, full of a deep, intense emotion. He isn’t on his knee, and he certainly doesn’t have a ring. He’s just staring at me, eyes smoldering, lips pouting, his beautiful, handsome face waiting for me to say something.
I revel in the way he’s looking at me. Images of the past four months consume my thoughts. The first day of school, him bullying me on the plane, the crash, the dead bodies, falling in love with Maison, falling in love with Micah, the severed limbs, the isolation, the love, the fear, the hatred, and the betrayal…
Micah … it’s just Micah now. That’s all I feel, and it’s all I need. He plays with a lock of my hair that has fallen over my eyes and moves it behind my ear. “Because if you want to marry me if we survive this, and I trust you will still be there, that would keep me sane.”
His sanity. He knows it’s slipping.
I press my lips to his because, deep down, I’ve already lost a part of my sanity. Perhaps our broken pieces can make up a whole. “Yes, Micah. I will marry you.”
I kiss him again, and I keep kissing him all night because he got what he wanted, and now it’s my turn, and all I ever want are his lips on mine.