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» never let a man treat you like anything less than beyoncé
» insurgent
I am his, and he is mine, and has been that way all along.
He stares at me. I wait with my hands clutching his arms for stability as he considers his respone.
He frowns at me. "Say it again."
"Tobias," I say, "I love you."
His skin is slippery with water and he smells like sweat and my shirt sticks to his arms when he slides them around me. He presses his face to my neck and kisses me right above the collarbone, kisses my cheek, kisses my lips.
"I love you, too," he says.