Her hair tickled down his chest; her body sprawled perpendicular to his, a spill of warm flesh against him. He let the deep breaths pump, trying to catch the rhythm with his own. Too fast, too deep.
He couldn't see her face.
She had his hand, cupped against hers, reclined against the tumble of her bare breasts.
"You only have one line," a finger traced across him. "There should be two."
"Are the bumps of my head next?"
She ignored him and ran a finger over the smooth ball of his thumb.
"Was it always like this?"
"I never looked until you." Her lips pressed to his palm. The taste of him.
"Maybe it's the same line," she pulled him over her mouth and back to her heart.
