It was his favourite way to look at her. The most delicious angle with which to slowly devour her wi
It was his favourite way to look at her. The most delicious angle with which to slowly devour her with his eyes, work his way from the tips of her toes all the way up to those beautiful eyes, and how cooly they regarded him. Cool, perhaps, although he could always see the soft glow of the embers. It wasn’t about that visual journey, really. It was about putting something between them, and having it be her body. It was symbolic, you see, although he struggled for a moment to figure out what it symbolised. Was it that her body was the medium through which he showed his affections, his lust, his arousal? Or was it more that her body was between them, was the part of her that he could touch and feel, the part that he could interact with immediately, without words or sounds? Either answer worked, he supposed, but it was closer that it cemented the idea that just because her head housed her brain it didn’t mean that that was where she was, where her personality resided. Her pinky was just as much her as her frontal cortex, and he loved it just as much as he did the way she laughed, or how shy she would get when he said her name. It emphasised the holistic nature of his love for her. How every little thing was important, each little piece adored as much as the last. It was, he realised, not symbolic at all, but really rather literal. Her body wasn’t between them, because that implied that it was separate from them. Her body was them as much as her mind, as much as his, as much as anything. And this angle served to illuminate that. That was why it was his favourite. He smiled. She smiled. -- source link
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