The room is quiet. The candle has burned low. They've spent hours talking about desire, ethics, memory, and the architecture of their love. Mwiitu lies back, eyes open, heart soft. Japhet watches her, reverent.
He speaks first.
"I don't want to touch you until I've named what you mean to me."
She nods, breath steady.
"Then name me."
Japhet kneels beside her, voice low.
"You are the question that made me think differently. The mirror that showed me my soul. The body that holds my becoming."
He kisses her palm. Her shoulder. Her mind.
"I want to make love to your thoughts. To the way you challenge me. To the way you stay."
She pulls him close, not with urgency, but with invitation.
"Then come to me as you are. Not to possess. To witness."
Their bodies meet slowly like pages turning, like verses rhyming. Japhet traces her spine like a sentence he's memorizing. Mwiitu breathes into him, not just with pleasure, but with knowing.
They move together not toward climax, but toward communion.
"You are my truth," he whispers. "And I will never stop learning you."
She smiles, eyes wet.
"Then let's keep writing."
And they do on skin, in breath, through every pulse of presence.
YOU ARE READING
Think Me Open
RomanceMwiitu is a rising star in nursing research, known for her clinical precision and her unorthodox theories on trauma and community healing. Japhet is a philosophy lecturer brilliant, reclusive, and infamous for dismantling students' arguments with su...
