#TBT: His favorite things.

As I’m sure just about every writer does, I have a TON of random, under-developed, unfinished pieces of writing stored on my computer (& in my phone, in my iPad, in countless flash drives…), so in the spirit of #ThrowbackThursday, here’s an an excerpt from an old, forgotten idea.

 Sometimes when she slept beside him, he would stare at her through the darkness and try to decide what it was about her he liked most.

Her skin, maybe. Flawless and smooth, like liquid cinnamon. Such a contrast to his own milky complexion. Once in a while, while enough of it was showing, his lost his train of thought.

 

Her hair.

Every single soft, thick coil. When the wind blew, it bounced around her back and shoulders, danced across her face; untamable, wild, free.

He liked stroking it, grabbing it, pulling it just hard enough to make her purr.

 

Her body.

Athletic and fleshy and firm and soft. Each imperfection made it perfect; every mole, mark, dimple, curve.

Especially every curve.

The curve of her shoulders. The curve of her waist. The curve of her hips. Of course, the curve of her behind.

Sometimes when he walked behind her, he had to stuff his hands in his pockets to keep from grabbing it.

 

Her eyes.

Green. Green for money. Green for Earth.

Green for jealousy.

Every single thing she felt was in her eyes. If they were what he loved most about her, they were what he hated most, as well.

 

Her lips.

Full and soft, always just moist enough. They were the most beautiful curled up into a smile when she was laughing.

Or maybe when they were perfectly immobile while she slept.

Or maybe when she was concentrating, and the bottom one rested slightly in between her teeth.

No. They were most beautiful when they parted, and his name slipped through them.

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