I was pulled back into the real world when I felt her fingers toying with my shirt. She was lying practically on top of me, with my back pressed into the bed and her leg draped lazily over my hips. Her body pressed into mine, soft and warm, the heat emanating from her grounding me in the moment. It was a simple intimacy, but it carried a weight that left me feeling both calm and inexplicably vulnerable. The steady rhythm of her breathing, the gentle rise and fall of her chest against mine, created a tranquil bubble where the outside world ceased to exist.
Letting out a contented sound, my hand instinctively moved to her hair. My fingers threaded through the strands, smoothing them out, twirling them absently. The softness of her hair, the way it seemed to slip so easily through my fingers
