shower scene 3

You kissed me back.

You let me run my tongue over your lips and push into your mouth, and you did the same. I reached the hand that had been holding your beard behind your head and grabbed your hair. I bit your lip and grabbed your belt to pull you closer. Was that a half-smile of recollection? Victory? Surrender? Were you a little embarrassed by your obvious, though not entirely inappropriate, erection?

My hands found their way around your stomach and back, and you allowed me to lift your shirts (long sleeve over short sleeve over long sleeve) over your head. You watched my fingers as they wandered up your chest, over your shoulders, and down your arms. Territory I could navigate with my eyes closed. And had.

I wanted you to take me and crush me in your arms like you used to, when we couldn’t get our bodies close enough. I traced a line around the waistband of your jeans and pulled on the end of your belt. I couldn’t look you in the eye; I feared I would lose my nerve if I paused to think or breathe.

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