How long did she have to cry until he touched her the way she wanted him to? All this talk was purely physical, but there was no heat in the words he spoke.
XX
17 times across the skin…one more. Now it was over, the beginning was done. She was as awake as the moon that night, and she begged him to stop. She couldn't take his touch.
Never, not once, had he spoke so far. Every stroke was too much already; perhaps he was afraid, as was she, that words might break it all. Melted together like this, there was no way anything besides skin could be exchanged.
"Don't," she whimpered. His hand moved along her face, down her body then back up. She could feel her eyes water, her heart skip. "please…"
He only smiled. It made her melt anyways.
"I love you," he said, again and again, until she couldn't remember anything else. He was poised on her hip, and he would never leave her again. Nothing else mattered.
"Oh, God," she whispered. He was too far-gone already to hear her. "Oh, God, Richard, I love you too."
And then they were both gone, out and back again, until there was nothing left to feel or hear but the sound of their skin melting back into place.
In the morning their skin no longer touched. He was asleep, his breath coming easily. So different than last night.
She moves so her skin is white-hot against his. Or, at least that's what she feels. She kisses him up and down, until his eyes flutter open, and she can't stand to just watch him.
Moving to his face, she presses her lips against his neck. She speaks into him, "I love you."
He looks down at her with crystal blue eyes. "I love you too, Kor."
She stops kissing him. Her heart slows to a rhythmic thudding. She no longer smiles.
No. No. No.
She does not love him. Her love is purely physical.
And her skin is no longer white-hot against his.
What is she supposed to say, though?