I’d maintained distance, resigning myself to friendship—albeit uncomfortable, considering your immeasurable charms. 

Then one day, I dared a closer look. “What are you thinking?” 

Your eyes penetrated. “If I told you, you’d run.”

“Then, show me,” I whispered. 

You introduced me to your fingertip first. It drew a line down my cheek before trailing my spine. I shivered. 

A slow, intimate kiss followed; you’d paid attention to my stories. 

Tumbling together in bed, you showed me what I’d been missing. Our passion released the tension between my thighs. 

And when you pulled out, I cried, immediately missing you.