I woke up to fingers moving slowly across my skin.
He never left my side the rest of the night. When I shifted, he pulled me closer. When I breathed, he breathed.
His fingertips kept moving. Over the curve of my shoulder. Down to the place where my neck met the slope of muscle and bone. That's where he stopped. That's where he stayed.
He didn't speak.
He just traced it again and again.
I kept my eyes closed for a few more seconds, pretending I couldn't feel how happy he was. It was everywhere. I could feel it in every place he touched. I tried not to sink into it, but it wouldn't let go.
He traced it again. Then paused and giggled under his breath.
I turned my head and sighed. "What are you doing?"
He didn't move his hand. "Mapping it."
"Mapping what?"
"Where my mark will go."
