Watching her cover up again is strangely disappointing. I would've thought it would be a relief, that once she wasn't naked anymore, it would be easier not to think about pulling her down and going again. There's a distinct part of me that wants to prove it wasn't a one-off thing, not a fluke, that I can make it good for her again even if I wasn't giving her much thought it the moment. Instead, seeing all that skin disappear makes it impossible not to think about. I just want to pull it off her, to be the one to take it off her this time.

"Yeah." With my pants back on and my belt still hanging loose around my waist, I get to my feet, stepping behind her. Even with the light against her back, it takes me a moment to catch the tiny glint of silver that tells me where the clasp is and I manage to pick it out and refasten it without much trouble. I can't resist then, hands sliding down to her waist as I lean down to press a kiss to the back of her neck, though I feel immediately as if I've done something I shouldn't. A few minutes ago, there was nothing at all between us, and now she's clothed, I feel like I should be asking permission. I don't care, though, if she gets mad at me. Her skin is salt and sweat and something sweat I don't know, her curves soft under my palms, and if this never happens again — and I don't know why it would, why she'd let me — I want to remember.