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⊰ 15.5 ⊱ Desperate Measures
⊰ Marcel ⊱
I sit on the sofa, the leather cool against my skin, watching the gentle rise and fall of Mercy’s chest as she sleeps. It’s been an hour since I pulled myself from her warm embrace, my mind too restless to allow me the luxury of sleep.
As I sit here, the events of last night replay in my mind, a vivid reel of passion and desperation. The way Mercy clung to me as we made love at 2AM, her body molding to mine like we were two halves of a whole, finally reunited. The way she felt in my arms, so soft, so perfect, like she was made just for me.
God, I love her.
I love her so much it hurts, a constant ache in my chest that only eases when she’s near. She’s the light in my darkness. But as much as I want to bask in the afterglow, to lose myself in the memory of taking her, I know we need to talk. There are things that need to be said, realities that need to be faced, no matter how much I wish I could shield her from them.
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