My own personal Iron Maiden was right there.
Inside of me.
Buried her spikes into every available surface of her very willing prisoner.
It made it easy to forget she had asked a question, even rhetorically.
"I am very much real, Bella."
She had to taste the bitterness there, souring something I had hoped beyond hope would be sweet.
Her pulse ratcheted up again, kicked into overdrive.
What I wouldn't give to hear what she was thinking with a heartbeat like that.
I was so lost trying to commit every freckle and feature to memory.
Kisses meant farewell, too.