Alyssa

I reach for the hem of War's shirt and lift it slowly. He sits up just enough for me to tug it over his head, his eyes never leaving mine. 

My fingers glide down his chest, lingering at every scar, every line of hardened muscle, every story etched into his skin I haven't been told—and probably never will be.

Then my lips follow.

I kiss along the center of his sternum, soft and open-mouthed, trailing down his ribs, pausing just above his heart. 

It's ...