We fucked like we might never fuck again...
We fucked like we might never fuck again, which I suppose could be the case. A sense of urgency permeated the sex although the pace was unhurried... He slid his hand down the length of my body in the lamplight and the wistful glint in his eyes reminded me of a million previous near-misses and that one time... He stroked my cheek, twined his fingers through my hair and held me like a fragile, precious thing, as if I were blown glass and might chip or shatter at a glance. A heat suffused me as he spread my legs with a hand and slipped himself inside me, a slow rhythmic forcefulness like an ocean, or some dark tide, carrying me away...
He left the next day... I don't know when I will see him again. But that's ok, a bond such as ours, like an elastic taffy, will stretch all the way across the world without breaking. It may never resume it's original shape, but it will endure...
