When I finally touched her, she melted—just a little, just enough for me to feel it. A warmth that spread against my fingertips, a softness that opened under pressure, a pulse that beat back at me. Not graphic, not crude—just alive. A place that answered every question my hands asked, even the ones I hadn't spoken.
She made a sound—quiet, not quite a moan, not quite a gasp, but something that pulled at the base of my spine like a hook. Her fingers found my hair again, clutching—not to guide me, but to steady herself. The little tremors in her legs, the way she leaned into me helplessly for a moment, the way her breath shook when I pressed deeper into that heat—
All of it was a language I understood without study.
And gods, she was beautiful like this—not the polished, sharp Helena she showed the world, but the one undone by nothing more than my hands and the quiet, unspoken truth between us.
"Selene!"
