After his breath fades,
there's a tremor beneath the sheets.
a whisper of movement,
as the bed shifts gently.

He sleeps soundly, beside me,
His breath deep and slow,
unaware of my fingers; slick, circling,
urgent in their rhythm.

Almost there. Almost.
But the mattress groans,
and I freeze, heart slamming ribs,
waiting.

Did he stir?

No.
The dark holds his silence.

My hips lift, rising upward,
pressing into my own touch.
Harder now, yes, right there,
a quickening pulse between my legs,
the ache coiling tight, tighter.

Oh fuck!
My teeth against my lip,
a stifled groan,
Completing, finishing,
what he left undone,
As my body shudders,
Shaking, tumbling over the edge.

A silent cry,
only the quaking of muscles,
the hot rush,
the sweet, stolen relief.

Then stillness.

And still, beside me,
he sleeps.
Unaware that tonight,
I reached what we did not.