Close
Her bare back is a canvas of pale, peach skin tempting his fingers to paint invisible images on it. Her ribcage swells and contracts with each breath she takes as she sleeps. He moves one hand, hovering over the subtle slope of her hip, moving down the length of her slender legs and then back. Then he touches her, gently at first and then with enough firmness to pull her against him. Close. Their breathing syncs, though he doesn't sleep. He realizes, not for the first time, that she's as close as he'll ever get to happiness.