Hunger for You
Sometimes I think the worst part isn’t how recklessly I want you — it’s how recklessly you want me back. We tried to be careful, once. We told ourselves it was just a spark — a one-time burn we’d snuff out before it set our lives on fire. But now, I see it in the way you look at me across crowded rooms, your fingers drumming on your glass like you’d rather be tracing lines down my spine. We’re reckless in small ways first: a text that should never be sent, a hand on my back that lingers too long when no one’s watching. Then we’re reckless in bigger ways — shadows tangled in the stairwell at 2 a.m., your mouth at my throat while I try not to make a sound. You’re bolder than I ever thought you’d be. You press me into walls like the hallway is ours alone, you bite my shoulder just to see me gasp, your breath hot in my ear as you whisper all the filthy promises you’ll make true when we’re finally alone again. And I let you. God, I let you. Because hunger like this doesn’t care about conseq...