He pulls back the duvet, offering his flank and the length of crumpled bed. I sink, and he folds me in warmth, bare skin and soft cotton. I wriggle against his side and lie into an offered shoulder, breathe deep. He smells of strong sex; my sex.
Burying my face in his armpit is like pressing my nose deep between my thighs, a familiar scent redolent of hours spent in his arms and under his belly. He reeks, from his ear through to the smooth skin of his elbow that cradles my neck, down to his wrist, which i now remember was stoppered deep inside me last night, his fingers ceaselessly stroking in the tight cavern of my cunt while i wavered on bent knees, simultaneous appalled and yet delirious at the swathes of liquid released, a curious feathering of my funnel every time he pressed a certain spot, ripples of wet heat seeping from between our pressed flesh and saturating my legs, his arm.
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