He moves again, and his fingertips dig right there into that tender flesh in the hollow of my hip, sending a shock and buzz so deliciously intense that I jerk, kicking his leg behind me.
I swear, I can somehow feel his lashes flutter, followed by the heat of his breath against the back of my neck. "Goeiemorgen," he says, his voice still supple from sleep.
I turn to face him, grateful that his hand remains on my hip. Her ruddy cheeks show little indentations from the grass, like tribal initiation scars. I want to touch them, feel the grooves in their otherwise smooth skin. I want to touch every part of him. It is as if your body is a giant sun, giving off its own gravitational pull.
"I think that means good morning, although technically it's still night." My words come out sounding gaspi
