GABRIELA WEAVER
We hadn’t spoken a word – well, discernable word – for an hour. My fingertips filled the void of silence, grazing your skin, circling your collarbones. I rested in the crook of your neck, forehead pressed to your cheek. My eyes followed the lines I drew on your skin. I lifted my chin to trail kisses up your neck before meeting your gaze with my own. …Continue Reading Untitled
