“No, it’s getting better.”
She kisses me harder. I bring my hand to the small of her back and pull her down against me. She gasps into my mouth, and her hands fist in the pillow on either side of my head, and we’re already there. We’re already back at the edge of it. Eight hours of sleep was apparently a long time.
She sits up on me and pulls my t-shirt over her head, and the morning light catches her, and I forget what I was thinking.
Her hair falls down her shoulders. There’s a small pink mark at the hollow of her throat from my mouth last night. Another at her collarbone. Another at the slope of her breast.
She braces her hands on my chest and smiles. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
I reach for the nightstand for a condom. I tear it open with my teeth, and she takes it out of my mouth with a small Blue, Jesus, and rolls it on for me herself, slow and steady, and I have to close my eyes for a second because the casual competence of it might actually kill me.
She lowers herself onto me.
“Melly.”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck.”
She sighs a small breathy laugh like she’s enjoying having power over me, and I love her so much I might break. She’s moving above me now, slow rolls of her hips, her hands flat on my chest, her hair around her face, the morning light catching the curve of her shoulder.
I can’t keep my eyes off her.
Every place my eyes land is the new best place. The slope of her neck. The small slack of her mouth when she rolls her hips, and it hits her right. The way her hair falls behind her shoulder. The way her fingers spread on my chest and grip just a little when she breathes in. The small unconscious bite she does at her own lower lip when she’s trying not to make a sound.
She makes the sound anyway.
A small soft oh at the back of her throat.
My hands finds her waist, not to guide her. I’m along for whatever she’s doing. She’s running this, and I’m letting her. I love what she’s doing to me.
“Blue.”
“Yeah.”
“Look at me.”
I hadn’t realized my eyes had closed. I open them. She’s looking down at me with her cheeks flushed pink and her mouth parted and her hair a mess and her eyes — God, her eyes — wide and blue and on me.
“I love you.”
The morning version of the sentence. Calmer than last night. Heavier in a different way.
“I love you, Melly.”
She moves faster.
Her hands grip my chest harder. Her breath comes in short hot hitches. I’m watching her come apart above me, and I’m gripping the sheet next to my hip because I’m trying — I’m trying — to hold on long enough for her, and she’s so close, I can see it on her face, in the way her stomach is tightening, in the way her mouth is shaping a word she’s not making, and —
She breaks.
She breaks above me with a small, high broken sound, and her hands fisting in my chest and her hips stuttering, and I let go right behind her, my hand tight on her hip, my eyes locked on her face because I want to see her, I want to watch her, I want every frame of this for the rest of my life.
She collapses onto my chest.
Both of us breathing hard.
