“Your neck…” I grazed my fingertips down his smooth skin and throat. “What about it?” I leaned in, surprising myself as I pressed my cheek into the skin there. He didn’t move a muscle. “It’s warm,” I remarked. “Smooth.” And the house was cold. I inhaled, smelling his soap and shampoo, far too fragrant to be hours old. “You just showered,” I guessed. Pulling up, I took a step closer, holding his head right in front of me and sliding my fingers back into his hair.
