She lies on her stomach, the filigree lacework of her new underwear describing intricate floral scenes I feel with my fingers, stroking the pattern as I grow harder. Truly, there may be no more pleasing suborgasmic sensation than the feeling of her warm skin yielding to my touch; even though tiredness stalks us, we each need me inside her.
“I will never know how this feels”, I tell her, and she kisses my shoulder.
“Lust is such a strange word,” she says, and I ask her why she’s changed the subject.
She turns over and spreads her thighs.
“I didn’t.”
