Page 23 of They Are Mine

So easy.

I skim through his Notes app first. Nothing interesting, just lists, reminders, a few unfinished song lyrics.

Cute.

I move on.

Emails. Bank account. Socials. I memorize his passwords, save them in my own notes, tucked under fake entries.

Just in case.

Just in case he ever tries to keep something from me.

His phone is handled.

I should stop.

I should sit back. Watch the movie. Wait for him to wake up.

But he’s right here.

Solid. Still. Mine.

I exhale slowly.

Then I touch.

A fingertip, tracing along his forearm.

His skin is so warm.

I let my hand glide higher.

His bicep. Firm. Tensed in sleep, like his body holds strength even when he’s unaware.

His shoulder.

His chest.

Beneath the sweater, he’s solid.

I press my palm flat against him.

Feel him.

Want him.

I shift closer, slipping into his lap, legs bracketing his thighs, settling against the warm, steady rise and fall of his breathing.

My hands wander.

I trace the shape of him, the slow curve of his waist, the faint dip between his ribs, the hardness of muscle beneath soft fabric.

He’s firm in all the places I imagined.

Stronger than I thought.

I clench my thighs.

---