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Slowly, like we have all the time in the world, he strips off his shirt, then mine, and I run my hands over him until I’ve touched every inch of his skin. I pull off his jeans, drop them on the concrete, and continue exploring him until he’s aching and shivering. He’s half hard, but I don’t get him off; I just let him have his turn.
Brow furrowed in concentration, he runs his thumbs across my nipples, around and down until he’s cupping my ass. He kisses my thighs and even slides off the chair and kisses my feet. It tickles, and he busts up laughing when I almost kick him in the face.
The chair creaks as he climbs back on top of me and noses along my clavicles, my neck, while I nuzzle his hair like a dog. We give each other every possible last kiss, so that our dreams have plenty to choose from.
And if this has to be the end, maybe that’s ok, because this is absolute and forever, no thoughts or words, just us. If love can see us now, it must be ashamed that it has nothing to offer.
You tore me open and put me back together but you kept something for yourself. You won’t give it back, and now I belong to you.
He makes it easy for me to forget. He’s done it before, so many times. I forgot about the bad things he's done, forgot why I came on this trip, forgot my own name. And now I forget about the secrets and the lies, all the people hiding the truth and all the people digging it up.
That turns out to be a mistake.
