The other on the inside—gripping.
I melt forward without thinking,
my hand slipping across his back,
his temple falling into mine.
His eyes close,
an exhale shredding out of him in pieces.
Then he swallows.
“God, I needed this so fuckin’ bad…”
He whispers it to himself,
his hand’s still shaking.
His thumb brushes the inside of my thigh first.
Then his whole palm follows,
dragging heat behind it.
Slow. Clumsy. Possessive.
I trail my hand up his spine,
and his lungs listen.
His next breath comes easier.
His hand climbs higher.
Higher.
All the way up,
his fingertips slipping under my skort,
until they reach the end of my thigh,
and his thumb traces the crease.
Soft. Careful. Another breath slips out of him.
Then another. And another.
Fast. Then slow. And slower.
His whole body exhales.
The shaking leaves him.
The bouncing in his leg ceases.
His breath spills out of him steady
