​’I Think I Love You’ – when a writer falls in love

‘I think I love you,’ I whispered, my top lip brushing against the shell of his ear. His arms were wrapped around my body, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of my pyjama top. I closed my eyes, focusing on the way his hand found its way underneath my top and the way his fingertips danced over my bare back. It tickled in the best way, gave me goosebumps. Each one is a reminder of his gentle, appreciative touches. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he was smiling.
‘I think I love you, too.’ He confessed. My face got warmer. My hand instinctively clenched around the smooth fabric of the T-shirt that he wears whenever he gets the chance. I felt his hand moving up and down my spine a little faster than it was before, and I buried my face further into his neck. Letting go of his T-shirt, my hand moved up and my fingers brushed through his soft, curly hair. They waded through the locks of thick, black hair and massaged his scalp. He groaned softly in appreciation.
‘I want to stay like this forever,’ I sighed. Often I felt the desire to pause the moment, to stay in his arms until the sun would come up, and then until the sun would slowly fall behind the horizon again. There is nowhere I would rather be. I wanted his arms to surround me, his scent to envelop me, his hands to caress me, his voice to soothe me.