DOM
It starts with her.
It always starts with her.
Lena's curled against me, her bare back pressed to my chest, her fingers threading lazily through mine. Her skin is warm—real. Solid. The scent of cedar and rain clings to her hair, and when she shifts in my arms, I feel her heartbeat beneath my palm.
I don't ask if it's real. I don't dare.
We lie beneath a sky scattered with stars, on a blanket of moss soft as velvet. A breeze moves through the trees around us, rustling the leaves like a lullaby. She sighs, content, then turns toward me. Her eyes are sleepy, but shining.
"You always look at me like that," she murmurs, brushing her thumb along my jaw.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm the only thing you see."
I press my lips to her knuckles. "You are."
She smiles. It's soft and shy and so Lena it aches. "I was afraid you'd forget me."
"Never," I whisper.
