Breathe
If anything, he enjoys her soft breath on his skin the most.
Not the searing lips that make him arch or the curious fingertips that brand him as only hers, but the light exhales that play against his collar bone and neck.
He shivers, and after a while she takes note of the power she had by doing something so simple, so fundamental.
Now she uses her cool breath anytime she can to calm him down. In a heated peace debate room when delegates are arguing, she'll take their held hands and blow through them. On an impossibly humid day, she'll pull him close and blow against his neck and jaw line. When it's late at night and they're pulling away too much clothing, she'll blow on his ear to remind him, and herself as well, of what they're doing.
He relaxes at the soothing sensation, at the care she gives to his well being.
Her breath is like a small, but somehow unwavering, wind that comes and, instead of rustling him up, straightens his errant emotions and thoughts.
She keeps him grounded and down to earth with his own element.
With something so simple as a breeze she controls him.
It scares him for a little, to know she has so much power over him, but then he sees her breathe and reminds himself to do the same.
She's only breathing; he's only breathing.
And they're simply in love.