Josie felt crazed and overwhelmed with emotion. She scratched and clawed at his body as if trying to climb inside him. Over the lines of his ink, she raked pink trails with her fingernails. Tristan hummed at the fulfillment of her pain becoming his.

Josie felt his hands trace down the curve of her body. Tristan grabbed the backs of her thighs and she hopped up, wrapping her legs around him. She celebrated the electrifying buzz of every part of her body being touched by every part of his.

A low, satisfied hum vibrated through his chest as he walked them to her never used bedroom. The only light came from the moon filtering in through the dirty window. Tristan dropped to his knees, Josie still clinging to his body. In a tangle of limbs, Josie fought her way out of her shirt and jeans while Tristan helped.

They ventured into unfamiliar territory for Josie. It was strange and intimidating and completely welcomed. Josie usually held all the control in these situations, taking what she wanted and then abandoning her conquest. With Tristan, she was happy to surrender.

Josie lay before Tristan, her skin glowing silvery blue in the moonlight. With her eyes hooded and her chest rising and falling so quickly, she looked like a beautiful waiting sacrifice. She was heavenly and entirely his. Here, in the quiet of this room, beneath the light that shone only for them, she was not damaged, she was faultless and brilliant.

Lowering himself down, he let the weight of his body press her into the mattress. He placed soft kisses on her chest and neck, dragging his tongue across her pulse point. The rapid thumping of her heart kept him grounded, otherwise he felt as though he might float away.

“Tristan, please,” she begged, pulling up on his shoulders so she could see his face again.

Josie rocked her hips against him, loving the feel of rough denim against her bare flesh. Desperate for the heat of his body, she tugged at his shirt until he sat up and removed it. The planes of his chest were artfully defined by the colorful images that curved and clung to his muscles.

She let her fingers trace over each pattern before dropping down to the fly of his jeans. Expertly, Josie slid each button through its hole, while her lips pressed kisses against his neck. He tasted like salt and adoration.

The muscles and tendons of his shoulders were rigid. Her tongue ran over the stubble of his jaw and she hummed at the delightful scrape of it against her lips. With his jeans undone, Tristan slipped out of them easily. Josie smiled at the revelation that he wore nothing beneath them.

Again, he lowered himself down onto her, but this time the feeling was quite different. Hot flesh against hot flesh and worshipping hands made them each feel as if time had stopped. Josie vowed to keep her eyes open, not wanting to miss a second of his loving, lustful face.

Tristan placed his lips on her body, sucking and biting until she was a hopeless mess. He slid his hand into hers to hold his weight. Josie treasured the feeling of being pinned beneath him, being held down by not only his body but also his affection. She’d never wanted to belong to anyone until this moment.

Josie watched in fascination as his brow furrowed and his eyes fluttered when he finally slid inside her. She felt her body stretch to welcome him and wanted to commit the feeling to memory. Once fully joined, he stilled and placed a sugary, chaste kiss against her lips.

“Perfect,” Tristan whispered.

He began a steady rhythm, a greedy pace set by his body and not his will. Sex had always been good for him, easy and pleasurable. But it had never been this. This was unexplainable and foreign. It was the rejoining of two lost souls to make each other whole again, immeasurable love.

“Tell me again,” she whispered.

Knowing exactly what she wanted, Tristan whispered the three words that gave her the only strength she had.

“I love you.”

His declaration sent her hurling over the edge. A fiery orgasm ripped through Josie, every muscle unyielding and taut as she chanted his name. She felt drunk and dazed and completely addicted.

Tristan groaned at the sight before him, her eyes squeezed tight, her lips parted in a silent scream. He’d never seen anything more stunning.

Josie hated that those three tiny words could invoke so much joy and so much fear inside her heart. As much as she felt that it might be true, she could not find the strength to reaffirm their more-than-physical connection. Instead, she kept with what was familiar to her.

“Oh God! So good, Tristan.”

Josie knew her words were harsh and unromantic, but they were easy. She couldn’t offer him the same profession that he’d given her, so she stayed true to the wild desire between the two of them. Tiny whimpers escaped Tristan’s lips with his climax, his own erotic melody.

Tristan rolled them over and wrapped his arms around her. Slowly, their breaths became slower, their pulses calmed. Bathed in the glow of lunar beams, they fell into a deep slumber surrounded by the pencil-sketched faces of their past.

The next morning, in the Clairemont neighborhood, swimming in their own postcoital glow, Monica and Rob exchanged their own confessions.

“It seems soon, but I just know that you’re it for me,” Monica said, tracing the light trail of hair leading from his belly to the waistband of his boxers.

“It’s the same for me. I love you like biscuits and gravy.”

“Ha. You better really love biscuits and gravy,” she teased.

“Of course, ma’am.”

“Seems like some people wait for love their whole lives. Some people never expect to find it. How did two people like us happen across each other? Destiny or a higher power maybe,” Monica said, her voice trailing off.

Rob nodded, silenced by her ideas of destiny and otherworldly forces responsible for their union. He believed in no such thing. Still, he pulled Monica in close and kissed the top of her head. He wouldn’t question her ideals. All he knew was that he wanted her to be happy and he would do anything in his power to make that happen.

Later that afternoon, when they had rehydrated and fed themselves, the couple ventured out to Balboa Park. Rob lay in the grass with his jacket folded beneath his head. In the warm light of the late-day sun, he hummed as Monica ran her fingers through his hair. They watched children play and dogs chase after them. Couples walked hand in hand, enjoying each other and the impossibly beautiful weather. When massive jets swept over, they would raise their faces to the sky to enjoy the roar of the engines and the momentary eclipse created by their shadows.

They talked about love and life and changes to come, planning their future as if it were guaranteed. Rob admitted to never being in love before. While Monica couldn’t admit the same, she was sure that it had never felt quite like this. Rob complained about the unrealistic expectations of his job and his fears of failure. So much responsibility sat on his shoulders and the weight of it felt crushing at times. Monica admitted that, though demanding, she loved her job.

“It’s so fulfilling,” she confessed. “I mean, these kids, who have been abandoned in some form or another, have no one to look out for them. That’s where I come in. It’s my job to make sure that they’re safe. I want them to have a fair chance to reach their potential.”

“Yeah, but don’t you get tired of taking responsibility for other people’s children? Don’t you just wish parents would be parents?”

“I do wish people would be accountable for their children, but I feel a responsibility to help,” Monica answered.

For her, it was simple. She was capable of helping, so she did.

“When I was younger, I thought I could save them all. I was stupid. I made mistakes that were covered up by my superiors, swept under the rug with a slight slap on the wrist. It makes me sick now to think of me getting off so easy when this innocent girl paid the price.”