Rain's POV:
7 Years Ago: (Continued)
"Danny—no, no…" I giggle, breathless, as he presses himself to my back.
His chest is warm against my spine, heavy and solid, like he's trying to seal me into the mattress.
The duvet is soft and overstuffed, smelling faintly like laundry detergent and the cheap vanilla spray I'd been obsessed with back then.
Everything in my room is pink.
Pink sheets.
Pink pillows.
Pink fairy lights that barely work, but still glow just enough to make the walls look warm.
He's behind me, and I can still feel it.
The aftershocks.
My legs are weak in that embarrassing, sweet way, like my body hasn't caught up with what just happened.
"Whaaat was that?" I say, turning just enough to glance over my shoulder.
My voice comes out airy, half-laughing, half-whining.
"What the hell was that?"
He hums like he's proud of himself, nose brushing the side of my jaw.
His voice is low, satisfied, almost lazy.
