She had been alone so long, she’d forgotten what passion was really like, fantasizing about the past that could never be again. And the trauma she’d experienced at the hands of her past, made her fear it. So she was world-weary, nothing making her heart beat fast any longer, paranoia being her closest friend, and rejection her only reflex. And the men she saw did nothing to ease her doubt, because they were passionless, using, self-interested. But he had made her short of breath, had given her the butterflies she’d once experienced in youth and now took for ill. He had taken her on an emotional rollercoaster, good and bad, one she tried in vain to disown but could not. Only him, no one else. 

She needed to break her cage, toss caution to the wind and take him. She needed to let him show her the passion she had longed for all these years, to make her feel like the woman she once was, only motivated by love and desire for her soul. She needed to give herself to him, body and mind, eschewing all naysayers and jealousies, let him touch her how she needed to be touched, letting him fill her soul again, and enter her, doing all he could to satiate her. She needed to feel him in her, feel his hands upon her, let him know her taste and taste him. One night, no strings, would be enough to rekindle her fire. 

She could sleep with others but it would be empty. She needed to take him, once, in throes, before his flame expired as well. Then she would know his true intentions, know his loyalty, honesty, know how solid he was, as solid as she made him in her hands, know love again. She needed it. He needed it. But the world stood between them, and made her cower and dissemble instead of taking what was hers, what she needed.