The Magic in his Fingers

His arms were all around her in a soft embrace. His fingers were traveling up and down her spine, lighting a fire. She was pressed to him, her hands against his chest and her face close to his shirtless torso. He smelled like he always did, of soap and incense and him. It was the smell that gave her comfort when she lost it, that brought her back there, to that moment frozen in her memory. That moment when she was smiling and he was laughing, his face buried in her hair, because he had said something strange or because she had made an unexpected comment. That moment when they were happy. 

And then to the moments that followed. How she raised her face to look at him only to find him staring at her. His eyes impossibly hazel that looked greener every time she looked at him. How their lips touched gently at first, a thousand unspoken words, and then fiercer. Suddenly he was on top of her but he wasn’t crushing her, their bodies perfectly balanced and melting into one. His hand was on her cheek and she couldn’t stop smiling. Her fingers caressing the smooth skin of his side, the permanent temptation of a tickle war he was sure to lose. And then his smile when her hands reach the small of his back and press him against her, hungry. 

And the hunger gets translated into a clash of lips and teeth and bodies. Bodies that are tangled into one. She is now on top of him. And she sits up just so he can look at him for an instant and remember, take a mental picture of this boy she loves so much. She lowers herself and kisses him gently again, she lets her fingers get tangled in his messy curls and bites his lower lip, driving him crazy. And he’s not far behind, his hands driving along the curves of her body, enjoying every mile. They find the curve of her butt and take a detour before they push her onto her back. 

His mouth leaves a soft trail down her neck and delays on her breast. She gasps and giggles as he playfully bites one of her nipples. Then he resumes his way down the valley of her belly stopping right when she arcs in pleasure. And though his lips find hers again, his fingers draw sparks along her thighs, like a magician. They explore the sensitive skin of her groin and bury themselves inside her. As she gasps against his mouth, his eyes pour all of their affection on her and she digs her bitten nails in his shoulder blade. 

He always had this little magic trick, he made his fingers vanish in her and then he made her feel them everywhere. She played her body like it was an instrument he had studied for years. And he received her moans like a magician that bows to a clapping audience.