2
"I haven't touched you all day." He said it into my skin, and one hand slid down my side, over the thin green fabric, to the bare thigh where the hem gave up. His palm was broad and certain, and it drew me up against him until I felt precisely how much of the day he had spent wanting this and telling no one. "Half a decade in, and it still runs out on me by dinner. Let me look at you first."
So I let him look. I let him back me onto the landing where the light lay dim and gold, and I let him take the straps one at a time, easing them off my shoulders slowly enough that I felt every inch of fabric go. His mouth traveled after them. He kissed the top of each breast as he bared it, learning me over again as though the first time had come up short and every time since had too. His hands weren't cold anymore. They had gone hot from the inside, until his touch left a line on my skin I could feel after it moved on.