We stay like this for what feels like forever.
Desire once boiled in my veins, but now simmers, left untended. Mundane issues shove away the fog of arousal and obsessive cataloguing of each breath he takes.
My back hurts.
He's got me partially bent over his arm, and the unnatural position leaves me off-kilter, my balance thwarted and my core muscles begging for a gym membership.
I pat Caine's back gently at first. A tentative tap-tap against rigid muscles, warm and soft beneath my hands. No response. His face remains buried in the crook of my neck, his breathing deep and ravenous, like he's inhaling me into his soul. Sometimes, I almost feel like he really is—like something inside of me is being absorbed into him. But it's just my addled imagination going haywire.
"Caine," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the aggressive drone of all three of the RV's air conditioning units.
