It was like a feeling of ecstasy, something Bruce never wanted to admit that he felt when he was around you, but you both were adults so who cared?

Your wicked tongue—Where will it be? Maybe running along his chiseled jaw? Or maybe the broad physique of his chest. Either way, the touch, purely by you, made Bruce shiver with raw emotion.

Did he want you? If he did, he was lucky. The bedroom, specifically a place for escape, was your runway. The wall, which you’d be pinned against, was a spot for biting and kissing—secrets untold.

A ghost in the sheets, you haunted him, and he haunted you—but by morning it was a rather empty, haunted house. The feelings from the night before were gone, and now were replaced by a mask of uncertainty.

Did the uncertainty of this relationship bother you? Yes, it did. You didn’t know if you were just a mere toy or an escape plan for Bruce—and he didn’t know if he loved you or longed for you. His touch was cold, rusted out and thrown away. It was foreign, even for him.