Photo by The Dirty Gentleman
“Tell me again why I’m special?”
She was nestled in against my shoulder as I ran fingers through her hair. She smelled of cinnamon and red wine, and she fit perfectly. He soft fingers touched my arm, moving on their own free will. Her voice sounded like water.
“Do you remember the ninth time we had sex?”
“No,” came her soft reply.
I closed my eyes and instantly saw her white summer dress clinging loosely to her skin. Her golden hair covered one eye before falling over her shoulders and down her back, but she made no effort to move it. She lifted her hips and dropped them down again as I tried to breathe slower and last longer. It was only when I closed my eyes that I could hear her quietly singing.
“We were on your couch in the summer. It was so hot out we missed winter. Your dress clung to you in all the right places and…”
“Lots of girls have dresses that cling to them in all the right places.”
“And you moved over me so slowly it felt like a dream caused by fever and drought. You barely touched me as we made love, and just before you came you started to sing.”
“I did not.”
“You did too. Something about summer and wine, and you sang it over and over in a whisper before you let out tiny whimpers and moans.”
She slipped her fingers into mine and nuzzled my shoulder once more. I kissed the top of her head. We both closed our eyes.
“Maybe that means you’re special too,” she said.