He'd remember this later with his nose and lips nuzzled in her neck while he loved her, not senseless, but sensationally. Feeling shot through her--toe-curling, lip-biting, nipple-exploding feeling.
Laying next to her, looking at her pretty and feminine hands, palm and backside and palm again, he knew this is where he belonged.
Could he, the harbinger of hurt, bear to stay? He had to hope he could outrun the nameless to be able to answer yes. Because he loved her dark hair and slender neck. The ever loving celebratory bounce of her every inch of unadulterated womanhood.
She shares divinely.
He may need, to be sure, but he loves so much more so and, thankfully, it's not up to him to decide if he's worth it.
