He wakes from their hazy post coital daze to her hand snaking over his hip, skimming softly across his skin as her lips brush along his shoulder.
She captures him in her palm, smoothes her hand along his length, which as always is quick to come alive under her touch. Her fingers wrap around him, pumping him with the perfect pace and pressure, until he's thrusting wildly into her hand and his release runs down her wrist.
Her tongue circles the shell of his ear and he's still plotting just how he wants to reciprocate when she whispers that she should go and a cold emptiness quickly replaces her warm body beside him.
He leans on his elbows watching as she slips back on the dress and underwear he had hurriedly peeled off her body several hours earlier, slides her feet into her heels and attempts to smooth down her messy just-fucked hair.
"Why don't you ever stay?"
She never stays on nights like these. The nights where she gives him a look over a glass of scotch and tells him to take her home. The nights where there's no rules or explanations, just need that they quench over and over again and then she leaves and they never discuss the why of any of it.
"Because then it would be more, and you're not ready for everything."
She's Donna and he always thought she truly did know everything but right now he realises how wrong that assumption has been. Because he thinks she's way off track.
"Really? Because I think you're the one who's not ready for everything. I think you're the one who keeps running."
Her eyebrows rise, surprised and unconvinced. "So suddenly you want everything?" She's skeptical, dismissive of his words.
"Don't you get it Donna. You're the love of my life. But I have no idea if I'm yours."