The dim light from the partially open bathroom door marbles her skin. Intricate designs of brightness and shadows dance over her torso and up her body. The satin sheet rests upon her legs, though it does no real good in helping stave off the chill.
He pulls her close to him, one hand resting on her waist. Nails drag lazily over her skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake.
"You're beautiful," he says, words a rush of damp air against her face.
She smiles at him - and he takes note of the dimples on her cheeks, the creases by her eyes, the subtle shadows that dance across her skin. There's a bruise on the side of her throat. Sweat is drying on her flesh "I know," she says, with a laugh. "I'm perfect."
"You are." He's eager to agree. To press his lips against salt-stained skin and mutter sweet, encouraging words to her. They don't mean a thing but it's fitting, he thinks, to talk this way.
Warmth still rushes through his veins and his heart is still racing. He can still feel her pressed up against him, so close that they could be one person, and his fingers dig just a little tighter against her.
She returns the action - a nip to his shoulder, fast and brief. It doesn't bruise but that doesn't matter. There are plenty enough dark spots littering his body, her body, hidden beneath the dancing darkness.
"I can't stay long," she tells him, though she doesn't make any move to get up.
He sighs and presses his chin into her hair. She smells like strawberries and honey. There is still blood caked beneath her nails and dried on her lips. The back of his neck is burning.
"I know," he tells her, and makes no move to get up, either.
They lay there in the afterglow, together. It isn't until he's run out of things to tell her that she slips from the bed. The woman lingers in the doorway for but a moment, long enough to look over her shoulder and smile at him.
"Give me a call the next chance you get," she tells him. "I'm looking forward to hearing from you again."