I feel how he digs his fingers into my chest.

"You ate my heart," I say, "in a filthy alleyway, out of this chest." I pull open my shirt with my free hand, showing the pale skin, and I smile at him. And then I take hold of his hand, pull it off my chest. "Not today." He wants it now; let him need it.

Yes, I think I am finding my feet again, after the shock of his return, and I lift his hand, push his forefinger into my mouth, right back, and I bite down lightly on the base of it, tongue hot against his finger.