A Thousand Times Before
This is something we've done often, this melding. It's something that's happened more times than I can count, so many times that I've lost track. But that's ok, no one was really counting anyway.
Except, I used to, once upon a time. I kept careful count, marking it down in my head. I have to wonder, have I stopped caring? Or do I care too much now, so much so that I just let it happen when it happens.
He's sweet, I can taste him under my tongue, raindrops and roses and quite possibly whiskers on kittens. He always seems to taste just right. Fresh, like something that's grown in sunshine and warmed soil, watered lovingly by a caring hand. Tasty, delicious, like love.
It's a moving experience, and I know I should have something more to say. But I don't, and I can't. There's just something about these times. When we're together, inside each other, outside each other, wrapped around and pinned as one.
His hair pools on the pillow in a mass of darkness, stark against a white pillowcase. I have to run my fingers through it, tangle the tips, smile.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks, voice soft in the dying daylight.
"Sex," and he laughs at that, eyes closing slightly, mouth opening to expose white teeth and a pink tongue.
"Is that all you ever think about?" His eyes sparkle with mirth as he asks.
"Sometimes," my fingers trail from his hair to his face, fanning a small patch of the darkness onto one smooth cheek. "And then sometimes it's not."
"And this time?" his eyes close as my hand wanders, caressing over a cheekbone, down his neck.
"That this could happen a thousand times more."
And although I no longer count each time, it will always matter.