les cuillères

There’s a greenish 12:53 gently lighting the corner of the room.

He sees it.

Spooning her, right from the start, had been wildly contented arousal.

His lips on her neck.

Her skin the long-sought-after electric velvet.

Hair invited his hands to explore. To lift. To gently drop.

Her bum pushed back. She never and always held it against him.

Maybe the darkness heightened his senses.

Naw.

Fuck.

It was her.

Are you sleeping?

No…

Wanna play?

Hmmm. Mayb–

He leaned over and kissed her with intention.

She rolled towards him.

Good communicators didn’t need to speak.

A nibble says a thousand words.

A hair pull supplies the punctuation.

Finally.

Eventually.

Deservedly.

Breathing returned to where it should have been.

Mmmmms added more ms.

Smaller.

His fingers moved down her back.

Barely touching.

Reading the messages in her goose bumps.

His lips on her neck.

Gradually.

Together.

They fell asleep.

Spell broken.

He pulls the covers up to his ears.

Spooning an echo doesn’t keep you very warm.

He still sleeps on what was mostly agreed upon as his side of the bed.

There’s a greenish 12:56 gently lighting the corner of the room.

He rolls over.

 

 

 

 

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photo credit: uncleboatshoes via photopin cc

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1 Response

  1. Angela says:

    <3 to you Peter. Hope you are well.

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