"I would," I admitted, arching into the press of his thumb, a low groan falling from my parted lips. "I'd let you do anything."

His lips pressed between my spread legs, and I threw my head back, gasping as I murmured my agreement. "Sick, like I'm sick."

We were different in so many ways, but exactly the same where it counted most. I wanted to be a mess, but only when he made me that way. I'd only ever felt free to be myself when he was standing beside me, when I could encourage him to do the same.