I wasn't sure what to do with this but I'll post it anyway. Who knows, the nagging (muse?) might come back with more words for this bit =))
As much as he wanted to feel her shiver under his touch, his skin on hers, he'd rather relish the wrinkles she'd leave on his shirt as she fisted them in ecstasy. Even though he truly preferred having her heel dig into his bare ass to push him deeper, he'd settle for having her pleasure stained all over his jeans instead. Wrinkles and stains last longer than shudders and gasps. Wrinkles and stains not only last longer than memories, they also prove harder to erase or alter or contest. Isn't it a bit sad that he's already preparing himself to prove that what was happening wasn't a dream or a hallucination? That, even though they've only just started, he's already finding ways to get through when it's over. Dare he dream he could delay the inevitable end? Dare he delude himself into believing he could stretch this one moment into one night into one more chance for a lifetime? He's no man of incredible genius or skill or even value but by God if he can wear her down into staying with him [forever] he is not above trying.
