Violation had a way with them both. Making love, fucking, raping—it all meant the same thing. Barely distinguishable acts meant to raise them both out of their ennui. To think of sex in this way proved he was broken and always had been. The Broker was right.
He feathered his lips over Chessie’s. Her cool skin tasted of candy. Narcissus slid his tongue past the lips guarding her insides. He slinked inside like a man walking over a grave—cautious, quick, and more than a little afraid.
His hand touched the tangled curls and lifted carefully. The hair remained in place, solid and familiar. It could’ve been any other time he had done this in throes of passion or fits of pique. The only unnerving difference was he had never been able to meet her eye-to-eye while standing. Now that he could he wished for anything else.
Since this isn’t what you imagined, I advise you to flush the images right out...