Ellie’s arms tightened around him, her body pressing close, flush and warm. She rose just slightly in his lap, hips shifting in a slow, unhurried rhythm that felt more like a dance than anything else—deliberate, reverent, theirs. Her breath caught as she felt Tyler’s hand move, slow and sure, sliding up her side.

And then—he cupped her breast.

His palm was warm against her bare skin. Gentle. Steady. His thumb brushed softly across her, and Ellie’s whole body trembled like she’d been struck by a live wire. Not from surprise. But from how deeply she felt it—how known it made her feel.

She loved his hands.

Always had.

Big and rough in the ways that told stories—of hockey, of building, of holding things together—but soft where it mattered. Against her. On her. He touched her like she wasn’t just something to be wanted, but something to be cherished. And in that moment, under the low light, breath to breath, Ellie felt like she was being loved in all the ways she’d ever been afraid to ask for.

Her forehead pressed into the side of his neck, her lips brushing the skin there as she breathed him in. “God, Tyler…” she whispered, voice barely more than air. “I love your hands on me.”

He stilled for half a second—like that did something to him.

And then his fingers moved again. Exploring. Learning her shape by touch, memorizing her sighs and the way she trembled beneath every slow sweep of his thumb.

Ellie held on tighter, the world narrowing to this couch, this man, this night. She felt his heartbeat against her chest. Heard the soft sounds of skin meeting skin, breath tangled in breath. Felt more whole than she had in years.

Because here—with Tyler holding her like this, touching her like she was sacred—

She was.

Tyler’s breath left him in a slow, ragged exhale—not because he was trying to be quiet, but because he physically couldn’t speak with the way she’d just whispered that into his skin.

I love your hands on me.

God.

He felt it.

In his chest. In his throat. In the way his entire body pulsed like it was trying to keep up with a heart that had just re-learned what it meant to beat for someone else.

Her forehead was tucked against his neck, her bare body wrapped around him like a second skin, and Tyler couldn’t think. Couldn’t function. Could only feel.

And he did.

With every inch of his palms, every edge of his fingers, every reverent glide of his hand as it cupped her breast again—this time with more pressure, more heat, more knowing.

“You love my hands,” he whispered back, voice low and wrecked, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Then let me show you what they can do.”

He shifted slightly—subtle, smooth—his thighs grounding her as his free hand trailed down her back, over the curve of her waist, and then lower. Fingers spreading, exploring, claiming. He wasn’t rushing. Wasn’t fumbling. He was focused—locked in on her like she was his favorite secret.

Because she was.

His mouth found her throat next, warm and open, tongue darting out to taste the salt of her skin before he pressed a kiss just under her jaw—slow and decadent, like he wanted her to feel it for hours.

His thumb flicked gently across her nipple again, dragging a gasp from her lips, and God, that sound wrecked him.

He needed more.

But not faster.

Just deeper.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he breathed into her neck, hips shifting again beneath her in time with hers. “Every night I tried to forget you… it was your skin I couldn’t let go of. Your breath. Your hands in my hair.”

His fingers threaded through her curls now, tugging just slightly—not to control her, but to make her look at him.

To see him.

And when she did, flushed and panting and so fucking beautiful it made his chest ache—Tyler cupped her jaw again, kissed her like it was the only language he spoke.

“You feel what you do to me?” he whispered into her mouth, voice frayed at the edges. “This isn’t just want, Ellie. This is need.”

And she had him—every piece.

So he gave her everything his hands could offer.

He slid his touch lower again, between them now, fingers exploring the heat she’d built between soft gasps and slow, relentless rhythm. The way she arched into him made him curse under his breath, forehead falling against hers like he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

But she was.

And she was his.

He traced slow circles where she needed him most, thumb teasing, fingers learning her with a reverence that had nothing to do with performance—and everything to do with worship.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmured, lips brushing hers with every word. “Let me make you feel what I’ve never stopped wanting to give.”

And he did.

Because in that moment—wrapped in heat and breath and whispered yeses—Tyler Harrison didn’t just love her.

He honored her.

She didn’t answer right away.

Didn’t have to.

Because Tyler’s voice—low and wrecked and real—had already wrapped around her like a second spine, like a vow she never asked for but suddenly couldn’t imagine living without.

You feel what you do to me? This isn’t just want, Ellie. This is need.

God.

She felt it in her stomach, in her throat, in the wild, gasping ache building low and slow between her hips where his fingers now moved with the kind of patience that ruined her. The kind that said this isn’t about taking. This is about giving.

Her body arched into his like it had been waiting years for this kind of touch. This kind of heat. This kind of truth.

Because it wasn’t just physical.

It never had been.

It was Tyler.

Her Tyler.

The boy she used to watch from across classrooms and parking lots, wondering what it might feel like to be his.

And now?

Now she was in his lap, in his hands, in his life—and nothing had ever felt more right.

Ellie lifted her face, breath catching when he rested his forehead against hers, and for a moment—just one suspended second—she let the world fall quiet.

Just them. Just this.

Her lips brushed against his as she whispered, “You’re everything I ever wanted,” voice thick with emotion, spine trembling beneath the weight of everything they’d been and everything they were becoming.

She kissed him like it hurt. Like she needed it. Like his mouth was the only thing keeping her grounded.

And when he touched her again—fingers finding the place she needed him most—she moaned softly, broken and desperate and so goddamn alive.

Her hands curled into his shoulders, nails digging in slightly, anchoring herself there like she might fall apart without him.

But she wasn’t falling apart.

She was falling open.

“You have me,” she breathed, hips grinding down into his rhythm, jaw slack, head tilted back. “You’ve always had me.”

And then, softer:

“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Because every touch was rewriting what love meant.

Every kiss was undoing the walls she’d spent years building.

And every whispered word from his lips felt like salvation.

Ellie Tate wasn’t just letting him in.

She was letting go.

Of fear. Of shame. Of every lie she’d ever told herself about not being worthy of this kind of tenderness.

And Tyler?

He gave it to her like it was all he had.

And all she’d ever need.

Tyler felt her.

Not just in the way her body moved against his, not just in the moan that slipped past her lips like it was torn from somewhere deeper—but in the way she opened.

Fully. Bravely. Like love itself was unfolding between them, raw and real and too sacred to speak about in anything louder than a whisper.

You’ve always had me.

God.

He could’ve broken right then and there.

Because hearing that—from her, like surrender and truth and history all layered into one trembling breath—lit something inside him so fierce, so fucking reverent, he swore it reshaped his bones.

“Ellie…” he groaned, voice shredded now, reverent and wrecked and real. “Baby—fuck—I’m never stopping.”

He kissed her like a man with no other language. One hand tangled in her hair, the other still stroking between her legs with a rhythm that matched her breath, her need, the soft grind of her hips that had him on the edge of losing every ounce of control he still had.

And he wanted to lose it. For her. With her.

But not before she felt everything.

“You feel what I’m doing to you?” he whispered against her mouth, eyes locked to hers, thumb dragging slick circles that had her gasping into his throat. “That’s what you do to me. Every look. Every sound. Every second I get to have you like this.”

His lips traced down her neck, over her collarbone, open-mouthed kisses trailing fire across her skin. He sucked gently at the spot just beneath her ear—the one that made her hips stutter—and smiled when she whimpered into his shoulder.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let go for me, Ellie. Let me have you.”

His pace quickened—still gentle, still careful, but driven now by the heat pulsing through both of them. The kind of want that built slow and inevitable. Like a storm rolling in just for them.

She was trembling in his lap, and fuck, he was right there with her—thick arousal pressed hard between them, pulsing, aching, completely undone by how goddamn beautiful she looked in the dark.

Flushed. Open. His.

Her breath hitched—one more grind, one more kiss, one more sound that shattered him—and Tyler pressed their foreheads together again, hand steady between her thighs, voice just above a growl.

“Come for me, baby.”

A kiss to her lips.

“You’re safe.”

A kiss to her throat.

“You’re mine.”

His thumb circled again, slow and perfect, hips still beneath hers as he let her take the lead now—chasing it, choosing it.

“And I swear to God, Ellie Tate…”
His voice broke.

“…I’ll spend the rest of my life touching you like this if you let me.”

Ellie couldn’t breathe either.

Not because she couldn’t—but because she didn’t want to. Not in this moment. Not when the world had narrowed to the sound of his voice and the reverence in his hands and the way her name sounded like a vow in his mouth.

Her fingers curled in the fabric at his shoulders, grounding herself.

He said you’re safe.

He said you’re mine.

But it was the way he meant it—the way it trembled out of him like a promise he’d been holding for years—that finally undid her.

Her voice broke, soft and overwhelmed:
“Tyler…”

A whimper, a prayer, a truth laced in breathless awe. Her forehead pressed to his, skin hot and slick, heart pounding against his like it was trying to find home.

“I’m here,” she whispered, voice cracking with the weight of everything she felt. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She moved with him—let herself feel it, all of it. The way he touched her like she was sacred. The way he held back just enough to show her that this wasn’t about need.

It was about love.

About all the nights they hadn’t said it, and all the mornings they still could.

Her hands cupped his face then—thumbs brushing the stubble along his jaw, gentle and shaking and sure.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” she murmured, kissing his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. “You already have.”

She didn’t need grand declarations.

This—them, right here—was enough.

And she wanted every second.

Ellie was unraveling.

Not in pieces—but in layers. In soft, gasping releases of everything she’d been holding onto. Every breath she hadn’t known she’d been waiting to exhale until Tyler was beneath her, around her, whispering her name like it was sacred.

She whimpered against his mouth—barely a sound, barely a word. Just need. Just heat. Just him.

Her arms tightened around his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer as she rocked forward again, her rhythm desperate and instinctive now, chasing that rising edge she couldn’t outrun anymore.

“Tyler—” it slipped out high and broken, like the word itself might splinter apart in her throat.

His hands were everywhere—holding her steady, stroking her back, cupping the base of her neck like she might shatter and he’d catch every piece. And she would. She was. Coming apart in waves she couldn’t name, couldn’t contain, only feel.

The coil in her belly pulled tighter—hot and spiraling—and the air left her lungs in a breathy squeal that surprised even her. She buried her face in his shoulder, hips jerking forward again as she whimpered his name, one hand fisting in his hair, the other clutching his back like it was the only thing anchoring her to the world.

She was shaking. Moaning. Trembling in his arms with the kind of intimacy that had nothing to do with performance and everything to do with trust.

With love.

With choosing him.

“I can’t—Tyler—I—” she gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders as another wave rushed up her spine.

“You have me,” she choked out, forehead pressed to his. “You’ve always had me.”

And when she fell over that edge—completely, wholly, beautifully undone—it was into his arms.

Exactly where she belonged.

Tyler held her through it—every breathless cry, every tremble, every shattered second that spilled from her body like something sacred and earned.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

Because she was in his lap, wrapped around him, unraveling in a way that felt like faith—and he would’ve stayed just like that forever. Arms locked around her, lips brushing her temple, heart wide open in his bare chest like please, take all of it.

He could still feel her pulsing against his fingers, the echo of her gasp in his ear, the soft weight of her head tucked into the crook of his neck. Her breath stuttered. His did too.

But neither of them pulled away.

God, no.

Tyler was too far gone, too full of her, too in love to even consider letting her go for a second.

So he just… breathed.

Let himself feel the weight of her in his lap. Her skin on his. Her arms still wrapped around his shoulders like they weren’t done holding each other, even if their bodies had gone soft and trembling.

He pressed his mouth to her hair.

One kiss.

Then another.

Then another—each one slower than the last, until he found her temple and just stayed there, lips resting, heart pounding beneath her ribs.

“Ellie,” he whispered—hoarse, cracked, reverent. “You don’t even know…”

His voice trailed off. Not because the words weren’t there. But because they were, all of them, all at once. And they felt too big, too honest to cram into one breath.

So he wrapped both arms around her back, cradling her completely now, and leaned back into the couch until she settled on top of him like something inevitable.

Skin to skin.

Soul to soul.

“Do you know what you just gave me?” he murmured, voice low, almost disbelieving. His hand stroked slow lines down her spine, grounding them both. “You gave me peace. You gave me you. I’ll never… Ellie, I’ll never take that for granted.”

He kissed her again—softer this time. Gentle. Exhausted. Not from her—but from how much he felt.

How much he’d always felt.

“You say I have you,” he whispered against her cheek, “but I’ve only ever wanted to be worthy of that. Of this. Of you.”

She shifted against him, just enough to look up, and he swore the sight of her—messy, flushed, eyes still glazed with pleasure and trust—burned into his bones.

“I love you,” he said, simply. Fully. Like he’d been waiting his whole life for the moment she’d hear it this way.

Not desperate.

Not afraid.

Just true.

“I love you so much it hurts.”

And it did. A little.

But only in the best way.

Because this—holding her, after everything—was the kind of ache he wanted to feel forever.

Ellie didn’t speak at first.

She just lay against his chest, her cheek pressed against the curve of his shoulder, their skin still damp with heat and honesty. Her breath was shallow, lips parted, lashes fluttering against his chest with each slow blink.

But her arms never loosened.

If anything, they held tighter. Like he was the shore she’d finally reached after years of treading water.

A beat passed.

Then another.

And finally, without lifting her head, her voice came—soft, a little hoarse, thick with all the things she didn’t know how to say any other way.

“You make everything quiet.”

She felt the way he stilled beneath her, like even his heartbeat paused just to catch that sentence.

Ellie shifted slightly, just enough to look up at him, chin resting on his chest now. Her eyes searched his face, and for once—just this once—she didn’t try to mask anything. No teasing. No deflection. Just her.

“I didn’t know how loud it was until you came back.”

She reached up, fingers brushing a damp lock of hair from his forehead, then drifting down to trace the edge of his jaw. She smiled—barely. The kind that said thank you without needing the words.

“I don’t need the world to understand us,” she whispered. “I just need this. You. Like this. Not perfect. Just real.”

Her thumb brushed over his lower lip.

“I love you too, baby. And if you ever forget it—just lay here with me. Feel this.”

She pressed her palm flat against his chest, right over the thud of his heart.

“This is mine. Just like I’m yours.”

And in the quiet that followed, they didn’t need anything else. Not words. Not answers. Just the steady beat of two hearts that had finally come home.

Tyler didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

The way his hand moved—slow and reverent—up and down her spine said everything. The way he tucked his chin over her head, like he couldn’t stand to let her go for even a second, said more. His other hand curled lightly at her hip, grounding them both, like if he held on just right, the rest of the world would blur out and leave them right here.

Ellie stayed still for a while, breathing him in. Feeling the way his chest rose and fell beneath her cheek. How warm he was. How steady.

And she let herself soften completely.

Her body relaxed over his, boneless and safe in the way she rarely allowed herself to be. She hadn’t realized how many walls she still kept up until he’d kissed her like that. Touched her like that. Told her he loved her like it wasn’t breaking news, but a truth that had always been there, just waiting for air.

“I used to wonder if I’d ever feel… safe like this,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Not just physically. But with someone who actually saw me. Who didn’t run when I got loud. Or soft. Or scared.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him again—eyes raw, unguarded, full of that still-burning glow from earlier but gentler now. Like something sacred had settled in her.

“But you don’t just stay. You hold. Even when I don’t say it right. Even when I try to laugh it off.”

Her fingers reached up to gently trace the curve of his mouth.

“I know this doesn’t erase the past. The near misses. The things we didn’t say when we should’ve.”

A small pause.

“But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

She smiled, a little crooked, a little teary.

“Even if you forget to pick up your wet towels. Or eat cold French fries off the coffee table in your underwear at midnight.”

She leaned in, nose brushing his, her breath warm between them.

“I’ll still choose you. Every time.”

And then she kissed him—slow, soft, open-mouthed and unhurried. Not because she needed more. Not because she wanted to start anything again.

But because she could.

Because love, when it’s this real, doesn’t always need to be loud to be infinite.

Tyler had never known silence could feel like this.

Not empty.

Not awkward.

But whole.

Like the quiet after the last note of a perfect song—one that didn’t ask for applause, only that you felt it. And God, was he feeling it now. Every inch of her pressed against him, every word she’d whispered into his skin like it was scripture, every soft breath that still carried pieces of her undoing.

Ellie Tate had shattered him open.

And somehow, he’d never felt more put back together.

Her voice rang in his head on a loop—You make everything quiet.
And maybe it was because for so long, all he’d known was noise. Pressure. Applause. Judgment. Expectations shouted at full volume, love offered on conditions he never agreed to. But this?

Her arms around him. Her heart against his. Her voice like velvet wrapped around truth.

This was peace.

His hand slid slowly up her back, curling into her hair as he breathed her in—slow, steady, anchored. His other hand never left her hip, like some part of him still needed to prove he wasn’t going anywhere.

And when she said, I’ll still choose you. Every time—

He closed his eyes, jaw flexing, because fuck. That one nearly took him out.

When their kiss broke, soft and warm and final in the way only first love come full circle could be, Tyler leaned his forehead against hers and finally spoke. Low. Hoarse. Honest.

“Ellie Tate,” he murmured, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth, “you are the loudest quiet I’ve ever heard.”

His eyes found hers—still glassy, still glowing—and he smiled, just a little crooked. Just like her.

“And I’ll listen to you for the rest of my life, if you let me.”

His voice broke a little on life. Not from fear.

From knowing.

Knowing what they almost lost. What they still got to keep. What it meant that she stayed—even after every missed chance, every unsent text, every moment he could’ve shown up but didn’t.

She still chose him.

“You don’t scare me when you’re loud,” he added, voice low as his hand smoothed her hair back. “You scare me when you think you have to be small to be loved.”

A pause.

Then softer:

“I don’t need you quiet, baby. I just need you real.”

He kissed her again—this time on the forehead. Then her cheek. Then her mouth. Slow. Gentle. Not like punctuation.

Like a melody.

Something you hum when you’re in love and don’t care who hears it.

“I used to think forever was something too big for me,” he whispered, arms folding tight around her as he eased them both down into the couch cushions. “But I look at you like this, and it doesn’t feel big anymore.”

His lips brushed her temple.

“It just feels like home.”

And in the soft hush of the living room, skin warm, hearts slowing in sync, Tyler whispered the only truth he ever really needed her to know:

“I’ll still choose you too, Ellie Tate. Every time. In every universe.”

Because some stories don’t need rewrites.

Just a second verse.

Softer.

Deeper.

Hers.

Ellie didn’t speak at first.

She couldn’t.

Because her chest was already so full—of him, of the quiet, of the way his words folded around her like a promise that didn’t need sealing.

She just pressed her face into the crook of his neck, eyes closed, breath catching against his skin as she let it settle in. All of it. The way he held her like she was made of something precious. The way he saw her, even in the silence. Especially in the silence.

And maybe that was the whole point.

She wasn’t used to being held like this—still and steady. Not for the show. Not for the storm. Just for being here. Breathing. Choosing.

Choosing him.

And being chosen right back.

She pulled back just enough to look at him. To really see him. His face flushed from feeling, eyes soft in that way he reserved only for her. It hit her again—how easily she could’ve missed this. How many versions of them almost ended before they ever really began.

But here they were.

Skin to skin.

Heart to heart.

Still.

Always.

“I never wanted to be quiet,” she whispered, brushing her fingers along his jaw. “I just got good at pretending it was safer that way.”

She took a breath, her thumb finding the corner of his mouth now, tracing the edge of that crooked smile she’d loved since she was sixteen.

“But with you, it’s not pretending anymore.”

A beat.

Then softer, truer:

“You make me want to be loud. Honest. Brave.”

Her smile broke through then—tired and teary and full of the kind of joy that made her ache in the best way.

“And you are so worthy of forever, Tyler. Mine. Yours. Ours.”

She leaned in, kissed him—slow and steady and soaked in truth.

Not a thank you.

Not a promise.

Just yes.

To everything.

To them.

When she pulled back again, she rested her forehead against his and whispered through a smile, “Guess we’re writing that second verse together, huh?”

And God, it already sounded like her favorite song.

Ellie shifted gently, her cheek lingering against his chest one more moment before she moved—slow, deliberate, careful not to lose the warmth they’d built between them. Her back met the pillows stacked against the armrest, curls spilling over the edge, heart still thudding softly beneath skin that glowed from everything they’d just shared.

She reached for him without hesitation.

Without fear.

Fingers brushing over his, then curling around them like she was anchoring herself to something steady. Something hers.

Her eyes met his—tired, soft, sure—and she gave the faintest tug.

Not rushed. Not desperate.

Just, come here.

Her voice was barely a breath. “Your turn to finish.”

And God, the way she said it—like she was giving him the rest of the night, the rest of her, the rest of whatever came next—it undid him all over again.

She tugged his hand again, guiding him gently over her, the two of them moving like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Only this.

Only them.

And beneath the quiet hum of the room, Ellie lifted her other hand to cup the side of his face, thumb tracing just beneath his cheekbone. “I want to see you,” she whispered. “All of it. All of you.”

No walls.

No shields.

Just Tyler, undone and home.

Tyler moved slowly—like every inch between them mattered, like closing it was something holy. His hand braced beside her head as he leaned in, and when their lips met again, it wasn’t with urgency.

It was reverence.

A soft brush.

Then another.

His breath mingled with hers as his mouth explored gently—kisses to the corner of her lips, the curve of her cheek, the space just below her jaw. Each one quieter than the last. Each one asking are you still here? and answering I’m not going anywhere.

Ellie tilted her head just enough to meet him fully, fingers still woven through his hair, anchoring him. Her legs shifted slightly beneath him, the softest sigh slipping from her mouth as his weight settled against hers—comforting, grounding, his.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered against her skin, voice so low it felt more like a promise than a phrase.

And when he kissed her again—this time deeper, slower, like a song that didn’t need a chorus—Ellie melted into it, arms wrapping around his back, holding him closer.

Letting the quiet bloom again.

Letting love speak without needing a single word.

Tyler felt her.

Not just beneath him—warm and waiting, wrapped in everything soft and bare and brave—but around him. In the breath she offered him. In the rhythm of her hands in his hair. In the way she’d said, I want to see you, like it was an invitation and not a request. Like being known wasn’t something to survive, but something to savor.

And God, he wanted to be known.

By her.

Slowly, he let himself sink into the space she made for him—his chest brushing hers, forearm steady beside her head, their bodies molding like they’d been made for this all along and just had to live long enough to earn it.

“Look at me,” he whispered, and she did.

Eyes open. Unshy. Trusting.

It wrecked him.

Because this wasn’t about the heat pooling low in his belly, even though that was there—heavy now, aching, humming between them like gravity itself. It wasn’t about the slow grind of hips against hips or the sweat on his skin.

It was about her. The girl who’d chosen him, again and again, even when he hadn’t known how to ask for it.

“I’ve never…” he began, voice rough and fraying at the edges as his fingers traced her ribs with aching slowness, “never wanted anything the way I want you.”

He kissed her again, and this time it was steeper. A little more edge, a little more heat—tongue brushing hers, teeth grazing gently, the kind of kiss that makes you forget where you are. Who you were before.

Ellie moaned quietly into his mouth and that sound—that sound—lit him up.

His hand cupped her thigh now, guiding it around his waist as he settled fully between her legs. Skin to skin. Nowhere left to hide. And still—still—he slowed.

Because rushing this would’ve been a crime.

She was breathing heavy beneath him, lips parted, flushed all the way down to her chest. But her eyes—those eyes—never left his.

“You’ve got me,” he said, barely a breath, forehead pressed to hers. “In every way I didn’t know I could be held.”

And when he finally began to move—his hips meeting hers with slow, devastating care—he did it like a love song. Like something sacred. Like second verses sung in candlelight and the crackle of skin against skin in the quiet.

Ellie gasped, arms tightening around his back, pulling him closer, like she wanted to feel everything.

And so he gave it.

All of it.

Tyler kissed her again—deeper now, longer—until their breaths tangled and their bodies moved like one seamless rhythm. There was no beginning. No ending.

Just them.

And when he finally whispered her name—low, wrecked, so full of feeling it shook through his bones—it wasn’t for effect.

It was worship.

“Ellie…” he moaned, burying his face into her neck, lips brushing sweat-slicked skin. “This is it. This is what it’s supposed to be.”

Her hands fisted in his hair, hips rising to meet his again, and he groaned—long and low, like he was feeling her everywhere.

And he was.

Heart to heart. Soul to soul.

Their second verse didn’t need a chorus.

It was the chorus.

Every breath.

Every kiss.

Every whispered, “Don’t stop.”

And he wouldn’t.

Not tonight.

Not ever.