If You Were Between Us in the Kitchen

Because I want you wanting more.

Written for you, D. For the next time you read this alone.

If you were between us in the kitchen, I’d let him stand close behind you while I faced you.
You’d feel his chest at your back, my hands on your waist.
I’d talk to you about nothing important — just watching your eyes shift, feeling the air get heavier.
His hand would find your hip while I traced my fingers over your stomach.
I’d tell you to keep looking at me. And you would — even when his hand slid lower.

Because I want you wanting more.
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