The tightness in her chest (the tightness that's not from bruised ribs) loosens when he says it. Even more when he kisses her. It's like...fucking Pavlovian, is what it is. The way he rewards her for being honest with him. She should be pissed. Maybe tomorrow. She's too tired, hurt, and needy to work up a head of steam over him giving her exactly what she needs right now. (Ever.)
"Me too," she tells him, both the love and the stubborn. It's still hard to say the words sometimes but she thinks he knows.
Before she can get all sentimental (which is just going to fuck with her head right now), she tugs at his shirt. "Me on top? That way no ribs are crushed in the making of these orgasms."
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2012-01-26 04:47 am (UTC)"Me too," she tells him, both the love and the stubborn. It's still hard to say the words sometimes but she thinks he knows.
Before she can get all sentimental (which is just going to fuck with her head right now), she tugs at his shirt. "Me on top? That way no ribs are crushed in the making of these orgasms."