then warm skin as my mouth traverses the column of a throat. I sigh against the rumble that vibrates my skin. It’s the kind of vivid, early morning memory-dream that used to torture me, but now I sink into it, remember the hands that would— “Yes,” I sigh as a broad palm cups my ass, cinching me tight to the body I’m wrapped around. Fingers graze the waistband of my sleep shorts, moving under my shirt to trace the column of my spine until they curl around my ribs, digging into the underside of my breast. There’s a neediness to the touch that makes my stomach spiral.
