Did you ever have a morning when you wanted the morning not to start?

When every muscle of your body wanted to stay motionless, to keep you steady and sustained, to keep you chained to a warm cozy blanket.

That morning was one of these mornings.

And it was bad.

It was even worse than I imagined.

All night I dreamt, my dreams were horny, anxious, exhausted. I was jumping from a vision of touching myself to being on top of him, to standing it the pool of blood among the pile of dead bodies.

I felt sick, I felt so close to him, I felt as if I was... him.

I promised to get to know him, but the only way I wanted to know him now was either getting him between my legs or slicing his throat.

I managed to dress, but I couldn't leave my room.

I heard water rushing, I felt it on my skin, soft dampness on my cheeks, watery air in my lungs.

The smooth metal of the handles, oils in my hair, cold from the first wooshing of the water stream.

I felt me through his thoughts. I felt him carefully brushing my mind to see if I was around. I felt his excitement from knowing that I was watching him. Me…him... me...him… We were in this continued circle and it was blowing my mind.

This was what I had expected it to be. I was losing it... I was losing count if these emotions. Were they mine? Were they his? Were they ... ours?

I was trying to catch my breath. I was inhaling air but it did me no good. I touched my hair on shoulders. No, that was wrong - my hair was short. It was his motion.

I lost my breath completely. I pressed my back to the welcoming wall and let myself slide to the floor.

I made my self breath. I commanded my body to take this oxygen, to process it, to keep me alive.

"Just hold it, Rey. You are not crazy. It is just this bond.

Just this bond?! It is not "just". " Just" doesn't cover it. " just " does nothing.

Because if I am out of breath it is not "just".

If I can't get him out of my head, it is not "just".

If I am obsessed with touch if his hands, it is not "just".

If I am nuts over his lips it is not "just".

It feels like everything right now.

It feels like everything I need."

"Rey?"

I shuddered. When did he enter?

"You called for me."

"I did?"

He looked concerned. A white robe stuck to his wet skin. His hair was just wet ropes. Did he leave his shower?

"Should I leave?"

"I can't get you out of my head. It is so not healthy. It is so wrong…"

He stretched his hand and I grabbed it eagerly. His embrace was reviving.

"It is just lust. I am sorry. It is lust, bond... mess. How can you hold it like that?" I muttered apologetically.

"I am not holding it."

"So how can you resist?"

"I am not holding it," he repeated.

His hands were on my waist with his thumbs playfully rubbing my skin.

"Undress me," I whispered.

He withdrew with his hands getting to my belt and letting it drop to the floor. He untucked my shirt. I looked at my hands that were stretching to the ceiling. I swallowed embarrassment from knowing he would see my scars. My scars from that explosion.

"Is it... Finn?"

I nodded. I was too weak to resist this memory, he brushed a few tears from my eyes.

"Don't stop. We can talk about it later. Not now," I whispered hastily.

His eyes were scanning my torso, his fingers were sliding up and down my ribs, my breasts, my neck. He pulled me back to unhook my bra and cover with kisses my shoulder.

How did I live without his touch? How? And why?

Happiness as honey spread in my body that he carried to the bed.

He towered over me and cherished my breasts, my ribs, my belly, my light scars. He hid them in kisses and they disappear, from my skin, from my mind.

He got to my pants and his hands slid over my inner thigh. He didn't rush with putting them off. But he pressed his palm between my legs and I moaned.

The sound was unexpected, surprising. I forgot this feeling, forgot how good it was to be with someone.

He unbuttoned my pants to pull them off, to pull my panties off, to pull the last of defense off.

So this was it. I slightly got up to pull his shirt but he resisted.

"Only you."

I wanted to ask why but his fingers already were in me.

I wrapped hands around his neck hiding my face in his shoulder.

Fireworks of his emotions were getting me drunk. I wanted him, I wanted myself…

And while he was pushing me further, I heard myself moaning through his ears. Excitement drugged me and I wanted more.

He pulled from my grasp letting me fall on the pillow tracking my hands with his other hand, pressing me to the bed slightly biting the skin on my chest.

I grabbed the edge of the pillow, my breathing was so sharp, that I could have cut him with it.

My back was arching as if getting me ready for the climax, explosion of anticipation and longing.

I inhaled, he almost painfully kissed my neck and in my final screaming, I saw stars without skies.