He unhooked her bra simply to rub her back, unhindered. He wanted the clean feel of smooth skin on his fingers. He wanted a clear playing field, nothing in the way.
"What are you doing?" she asked. Her hair was knotted tightly behind her head, and her fingers traced the outlines of his slowly plummeting smile.
"I'm making you love me," he said. "I'm rubbing your back."
"As long as that's where you stay. I don't want any roaming fingers."
"No roaming," he said. "I promise."
He wrapped his arm around her hip.
"This is rather pleasing," he said. "You letting me rub your back without the hassle of the bra-strap."
"I figured I'd give you the clear playing field," she said, as if she knew his next move, anticipated it, had mapped out the course.
With his eyes closed, he found her lips with his own, and he did not mind the sticky taste of balm. He did not mind the scent of berry lips.
She stopped kissing him and asked to use the bathroom.
"It's down the hall," he said. His eyes remained on the pillow where her hair had become tightly knotted. "Last door on the left."
She hooked her bra.
"I love you now," she said and left the room.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
is a writer from New Jersey. He has written reviews and commentary for DVD Angle
. He has also published poetry in The Mediadrome
, but primarily works in prose. This is his first fiction publication.