I want to be where your breath forgets itself, where the quiet between your words darkens with wanting, where your skin, a field at dusk, grows fevered under my mouth. There, in the hallowed shallows of your body, I would linger— where the bones narrow, where the warmth pools, where the low gasp rises like a bird startled from the thicket. Your thighs are a threshold I cross on hands and knees; your belly, a vulnerability...

“I feel disgusting.” The way she said it, it wasn't an apology or a plea. It was simply a truth she laid out between them, as if it were no more strange than saying the sky was blue, or the river ran north. He studied her face, how the sun hit the fine bones beneath her skin, and he could not reconcile the word "disgusting" with what he saw. Her hair was the color of a wheat field set ablaze; her body slim, almost careles...

Call him Elias, if you must call him anything at all—for names are but the flimsy nets we cast over the sea of a man's soul, and Elias Raine is a soul not easily snared. A man of uncommon silences and uncommon storms, he arrived on the island as a shadow might alight on a wall—present, yes, but without ceremony or weight. He brought with him no companion save a battered leather journal, a pair of unrepentant boots, and th...

I forget my name when your hands are on my hips— not in a holy way, but like a match forgets it was wood before the flame. You come in quiet, a storm learning how to whisper, & I’m all windows—open, rattling, daring the wind to break me. Love, you kiss like you’re stealing something. Like the world might end mid-mouth & we’d still owe it a sin. And what is want if not a crime we keep committing with gentler hands? I want...

The field is empty, as it always is when they meet, save for the distant thrum of insects in the grass, the occasional scuttling of a rabbit or bird. The moon, full and silent, rises high above them, a spectral overseer, casting its light in long, cold shafts that turn the world silver. The oak tree stands in the middle of the field, ancient, its skin dark and knotted, a silent witness to their trysts. They had found it,...

I watch her from where I pause as I enter the room. The way the late afternoon sun slants across her back, catching in the fine hairs along her shoulders. She is washing dishes at the sink, the slow, deliberate movement of her hands hypnotic. I step forward, noiselessly, and slide my arms around her waist. She does not startle. She has always known when I am near. "The water's warm," she murmurs, leaning back against me....

You stood there, half in the light, half in the moment, the kind of presence that turns seconds into something else. Not fate—too grand. Not coincidence—too small. Just a blink of the universe winking at itself. The train doors slid open, a rush of wind, the smell of rain and metal, and for a moment, the city folded around us, wrapped us up in its noise, its indifference, but you— you looked at me like you had something t...

It wasn’t fireworks, not the kind they write about in cheap paperbacks, not some goddamn symphony of crashing violins or the way the moon is supposed to weep for lovers. No, it was quieter than that. It was you, half asleep, one bare leg hooked over mine, the rise and fall of your breath against my ribs like the tide, steady, indifferent. It was the way you left coffee rings on my table without apology, the way your finge...

The letter arrived in one of those thick, overly formal envelopes that you only ever see in legal matters or elaborate, overwrought invitations. The kind meant to impress upon the recipient a sense of weight, or gravity, or import—except this one was black, which made it even more ridiculous in its own way, as if announcing the death of someone who had already long ago evaporated from her life. Eve Laurier turned it over...

The hush of twilight settles. Porch swing creaks a low, familiar song. The day's heat lingers, a soft blanket on my skin, even as the first stars begin to prick the darkening sky. She's beside me. Quiet. Strong. Just there. No pronouncements, no grand gestures. Just her steady presence, a comfort I've come to rely on. We talked earlier, or perhaps it was just the murmur of our thoughts weaving together. Sun's warmth still...