Itching

Who was it that said the best lover is the man that can thrill you by kissing your forehead? Marilyn Monroe? His fingers caressed my palm, somewhere no one had cared to touch me, and I was thrilled, in the pit of my stomach, my heart squeezing with desire-induced pangs, my skin alive and itching to be touched–an itch only he could scratch. His fingers never strayed farther than my wrist and yet I felt them all over.

kate

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