There are moments after they’re together, when thoughts of him wash over her. When she closes her eyes, and there’s the teasing flick of his tongue in her mouth. Her nerve endings on fire as he kisses her neck. His fingers commanding her body like no one else has.
Sometimes it’s his little tells of pleasure she thinks of. His sharp inhale when her thumb slides over him on the upstroke. How his legs shift when he’s close. She’s selfish, and she tries to stop, tries to look up to catch the sight of his mouth open, brows hunched low, eyes drowsy with lust.
Those eyes that search hers, bright and clear, like a cool, crisp day.
Sometimes it’s the quiet afterward. Their sweaty foreheads pressed together, his breathing fast and his taste in her mouth and his scent on her palms.
But today, it’s his arms holding her. Wrapped around each other in the backseat, summer rain tapping at the windows. The gentle thump of his heartbeat beneath her ear, her cheek rubbing at the coarse hair under his shirt, the warmth of his body cradling hers like a blanket.
Today it’s the soft rumble of his voice when she asks, “Do you still want me?” And he says, “Always, every day.”
His good morning is the start to her day. His goodnight babe is her lullaby.
Wherever they’re at, however long it takes, thoughts of him will be where her heart calls home.