His nipples are small and hard, and rise up and down on his chest as he breathes calmly after sex. I touch his left nipple with the tip of my finger and feel it, I wet my finger in my mouth and do it again, circling it, and memorizing how its location on his chest.
His skin drinks the afternoon light, becoming warm and flush with blood. The scent of his sex, his taste still on my tongue, invades my heart, and my pussy tickles with the memory. I let him rest, however excited I am. His very presence next to me seems to make me continuously ready for him, my sex softly pulsing in anticipation. I am in Peace and in heat altogether, and the silence of those seconds of realization can be summarized by a finger brushing a masculine nipple.