#simplicityofwords

She rolled over and buried her face in his arms. His arm rapped along her chest, his skin against hers.

He moved his fingers down her whole spine, one by one by one, and during the time it took to do that, her brain remained absolutely quiet, caught off guard by this immediate connection, Strong. Deep. Complex.

She did not have questions she thought she would have, No metaphors. No apologies. No excuses. An empty space. A flood of feelings.

Touch lits a fire, and wakes the dragon suddenly, flames everywhere,

and before he knows, he finds himself, at the base of her spine,

What girls are made of.

‘I can’t make you love me…’

Stop.

Breath.

Even if you know what’s coming, you are never prepared.

…and I should have said, we are made to love.

‘Mine.’

‘Yours.’