Naked on the floor, he has gone to fetch his ink and brushes.
Sitting astride a leg, he starts on my bum. Softly touching and stroking, fleeting and whisper-light. Forming lines with care and precision.
The first contact starts my juices flowing and distracts me from my task. Not a sign of degradation, one of love. A heart, an arrow, his initials in the middle. His heart given to me to keep safe while marking me as his and his alone.
Fingers push into me, curving up needing more.
“Take me! Mark me again!”
Sliding in, slowly, deeply, lovingly.
