It's as involuntary as breathing and impossible not to do. It's slammed up against a wall in a dark alley or flat on my back on cold concrete because I can't stand one more second without him.
It's on my hands and knees, dry-mouthed, heart-in-my-throat, waiting for the moment he touches me, and I'm alive again. It's punishing and purifying, velvet and violent, and it makes everything else melt away, until nothing matters but getting him inside me...
... and I wouldn't just die for him - I'd kill to