There were parts of her he found more sensual than others. They were unconventional places, secret places cleverly disguised as public places.
Like her collarbones. They were prominent in sundresses, enhanced by pearl necklaces, sometimes slightly pink from sunburn, but always a quiet testament to her strength. Some judged beauty by strong cheekbones, but he loved the way her collarbones curved down in perfect symmetry.
Like her stomach. It was soft as a baby’s tummy and covered in tiny little hairs – peach fuzz. Always warm, even when her hands were freezing and her nose was pink from the snow. This was her most intimate area to him. He would kiss her tummy all over, planting little i-love-yous around her belly button and above the band of her jeans and just below the hem of her shirt. He would lay his arm over her tummy in the middle of the night and pull her protectively closer, fitting little spoon to big spoon.
Like her wrists. Delicate and tiny, the bone protruding at an incline, mimicking the angles of skeletons. The skin so thin there he could see her veins, tiny blue rivulets, and one faint freckle. The way she was slightly ticklish there. The charm bracelet she always wore on her left for luck.
And most magical of them all, her fingertips. The very things that traced his lips, tickled his sides, and left evidence of her love all over his body. The very things that he sometimes licked honey off of and was always fascinated by, as if those microscopic circles of DNA were also capable of hypnosis. And his favorite, the very things that quietly tap-tap-tapped on the keyboard in the middle of the night as she poured out in words all the ways she was entirely his, even her secret, sensual places.