I wake to the press of fingertips. They trail down my back, each one feeling sure and steady. The touch is so pleasant, so unexpected, that I arch into it. There’s a language to gestures. This one conveys a single emotion— Beloved. I squeeze my eyes tightly together, something thick lodging in my throat. It’s been … a long time since I felt that way. And with a man, never like this. I drag in a ragged breath when I remember the man behind the touch. War.
