There’s sweat on his skin, and there’s sweat on my skin as we lie here in the stench with the fan turned on. Heat bleating in through the cracks in the shades, and I could drink him in to quench my own thirst. But my thirst is unquenchable as we lie on these sheets, tangled between panties and discarded articles of clothing. This is a fleeting moment, and I’ll be leaving for work soon, but there’s something about right now that I can’t let go of. My hand on the sweat on his chest. The sound of his breathing as we wade through right now. Just like we plodded through five minutes ago, both of us heaving and feeling and throbbing and thrusting. Which is how we got here in the first place, naked and sweating and saying not much at all.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I say, wresting free of the moment and the heat and his arms. But I’ll be back.