in that: it feels a little bit like a miracle. It’s a relief to find that being with him still feels like this — that she still feels like herself, that figuring out how to fit together is (still) a solvable problem. It’s a lot of things, and it’s also just: that tell-tale tightness in her belly and her thighs, the arch of her back, beads of sweat between her breasts and under his hand. It’s: gasping because she didn’t realise she was holding her breath, twisting her fingers in the bedding, burying her face in her arms and concentrating on not immediately slumping to the bedding while he still needs her hips where they are.
He’s already said it, and it hasn’t been news to her, but it still feels as if it merits— “I missed you,” ragged where she hasn’t caught her breath, in no hurry to do so.
They have so many mornings spread out in front of them, but this one is going to stay with her for a while— a good morning.
no subject
in that: it feels a little bit like a miracle. It’s a relief to find that being with him still feels like this — that she still feels like herself, that figuring out how to fit together is (still) a solvable problem. It’s a lot of things, and it’s also just: that tell-tale tightness in her belly and her thighs, the arch of her back, beads of sweat between her breasts and under his hand. It’s: gasping because she didn’t realise she was holding her breath, twisting her fingers in the bedding, burying her face in her arms and concentrating on not immediately slumping to the bedding while he still needs her hips where they are.
He’s already said it, and it hasn’t been news to her, but it still feels as if it merits— “I missed you,” ragged where she hasn’t caught her breath, in no hurry to do so.
They have so many mornings spread out in front of them, but this one is going to stay with her for a while— a good morning.