"I've felt you press closer on winter nights, and your reluctance to draw away in the summer," he murmurs. Fewer nights than there ought to have been, but enough to see the trajectory of their future unspooling ahead of them like yarn.
It's good that he knows, without a doubt. Jill spreads her thighs for him, leaning up to kiss him again, hand slipping to the back of his neck to keep him in place so she can be thorough.
He presses against her once more, content to make out with her with his body weight grinding her into the mattress, heart surging. After everything, they have this.
Is he? He hopes so. For a minute he lets himself pretend he’s never doubted himself, but he knows he could just believe her all the time. It feels so easy.
What else can he say to that, to all her glowing words, that could possibly match? He just continues to make out with her, hands pawing up and down her, grinding against her just for the sheer joy of being close. But he does manage: “I love you, I want the world to change for you.”
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Nearly. She tries to endure, even if she ends up with her hair plastered to her skin from sweat.
"I prefer winter," she says, and kisses him. "I've forgotten what cold feels like."
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“You never would,” he assures her. “Not for an instant.”
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"You're in love with me," she whispers, like it's some sort of secret she's discovered and is immensely pleased to share.
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"Madly so," he says. "And completely transfixed by you, from head to toe, in my body and in my soul."
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"I chose you, my love."
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“And I wouldn’t be here at all without you.”
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"I'm so glad you are, Clive. My world is a better place because you're in it."
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