Touching him is like breathing for the very first time.
Tracing my hands along his cheek,
down his chest, feeling the lines of his muscles.
Brining my fingers to his stomach, tracing the v that goes down into the waistband of his pants.
I take in the sent of him, not quite able to identify the smell,
but it doesnât matter,
because itâs him.
I slowly tug at his pants as he arches his waist.
I wan...