And then she can breathe again, the fresh air of him plumping out her lungs, pillowing into her chest. This is the only place where letting go is permissible to her, where she crashes into full surrender. He pours his pulse down her throat; his tongue carves a tome between her thighs, and it’s the story of how this coming together is an orchid, blooming in aching night, forever free from daylight’s scrutiny.