Erin
*****
Perfect. It’s perfect every time. Even when it’s not. Even when he’s sleepy or you’re angry or you’re both too tired to even open your eyes, it is always perfect. There is a level of knowing you’ve reached that neither of you knew existed. Reading a mind by the depth of a sigh. Breathing over the right stretch of skin with the perfect brush of teeth because he rolled over in such a way that you knew it was exactly what he needed. Putting your fingers in or your tongue on or just staying still at the exact moment. Perfect.
The sheets get damp beneath your back. Sweat builds under you skin and burst through your pores as you try to remember to breathe. Your thighs tense and he takes you deeper. Your lungs heave and he sucks you harder. Your lip bleeds and he teases you mercilessly until you finally break down and beg. Please, God, more, please, please, please. And he’ll give it to you, you both know he will. He’ll relent and provide the release like he always does. But until then you’ll twist the blond locks tight and beg, beg, beg for him not to stop.
This is what it means to be in love. Waking you with wet fingers pressed inside you. Enveloping you in the shower when he’s still half clothed. Taking you roughly against the counter while the smoke from the forgotten dinner chokes you. Biting at your jugular like he wants to drink from inside you. Petting you gently and smiling softly and asking nicely. There are things he needs from you that he has never needed from anyone else. There are things you will give him you would never give anyone else. This is what it means to be in love.
End
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