And he is mine.
The sight of the black stubble across his cheeks, down to his chin, his pale, thin lips curved right at the ends. Wrinkles like arrows pointing right into his eyes; dark blue when he tells me he loves me. The taste of dry smoke on his breath, as crisp and cold as winter air.
I had never imagined a love like this.
His calloused hands, up and down my sides, grabbing hold of me tightly. I want him even closer. I want his skin to cover mine. His gentle lips making way across every little inch of me. On my skin. Softly. Surely. I want him even tighter. I want him to hold me so tight, I feel him in my bones. I want him even tighter--enough to massage my soul.
He pulls my black cami overhead; his hands, largely covering my breasts, sprinkling them with kisses. Wet. I tilt my head forward, look back down into the blue. My hips sway and grind, dancing against him with want. With love. Another kiss. A slip of the tongue. I sink into him, kiss after kiss and our breath become one.
I am his, and I have never been more certain of anything like this.
He thinks so deeply. I am lost within him. In the soul of his brain--I am a muse to the past of all we've shared; the presence of him here; the everything that is still so close and yet to come. The thoughts in his head, whispering of nothing more right than this now. Than home. Than love. Than us. There needs to be nothing more to think but the perfection of our soul.
I feel so vastly. I feel him at my every move. I feel him in all emotion, at every emotion. I feel so certain. I feel his soul intertwined in mine. The fit of his love, his caress, his eternally loving breath. An unconditional knowing. He frees my heart and me in feeling.