I'd always been one to touch the hot stove, and my mom would say I had it coming. That I should've listened to her. And perhaps she's right, and perhaps I do have things coming because of how little I think about consequence.

But perhaps the heat of the stove makes me feel alive. Perhaps it makes me feel like I've somehow been resuscitated from a coma of many years. Years in which I didn't feel good enough for the people around me. Years in which I couldn't look at myself because how did I let it get this bad?

Perhaps even if I feel more enough than I once did, I still need the burning to feel something sometimes. And perhaps I don't want to think about consequence, so I don't.

His hands tangle in my hair as he leads me into his room, my eyes closed, and our lips moving hungrily against each other. God. I can feel a lovesickness in my stomach, my heart racing at the intensity of this moment.

I grasp at Liam's arms, feeling the jagged muscles enveloping his skin while he leaves marks all along my neck. His hands roam my body, desperately pulling me closer in any way he can, my legs wrapping around his waist.

He carries me further into the room, and throws me onto his bed. I yelp at the sudden change. Giving me a quick once over, his jaw goes sharp in temptation.

My chest rises up, and down dramatically, a shaky breath fleeing his lips as he looks down at me. "Fuck, you're so beautiful..."