One last time.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

“Hmm?” His voice penetrated through the hum of the cicadas, rousing the dozing girl who clung to his chest.  She flicked her muddy eyes to his and he smiled.

“Sorry. I guess I woke you.”

“It’s ok.” She rasped, rubbing her right eye then placing her palm lightly on his bare chest. She loved the feel of his peck under her palm. She imagined the tight muscles under his taught skin. She’d always thought that muscles looked like strawberry laces fused together when she saw diagrams in text books. Text books. She shuddered.

“Are you cold?” Automatically two arms snaked around her and pulled her closer.
“I was just thinking about text books and how much I hate them.” She laughed. She felt his body shake and the hum from his throat vibrated through his chest. His lovely chest, bronzed from the sun, which she wasn’t going to see again for a long time. Tomorrow, it was time to go home.

“Fifteen minutes.” He sighed suddenly, glancing over at his watch which lay beside them along with his checked shirt and various other articles of clothing.
“Until tomorrow?” She groaned into his chest.
“Yup, fifteen minutes and summer’s over.” Now she did feel cold. She felt an overwhelming sense of urgency pool in her stomach along with the ice cream they’d eaten by the seaside.

“So what are we going to do?”

“Are you all packed?” She nodded. The next thing she knew the familiar warmth of his chest was stolen away and her vision blurred until her back hit the grass and his face stared down at hers. There was a blissful moment where there was only the sound of the cicadas and she only had the feeling of his lips on hers.
When he pulled away there was a mischievous smirk on his face.

“Well I do know something we could do but it’ll take more than fifteen minutes.” She raised her eyebrows. From behind him she saw the full moon high in the sky and the realisation that the hour glass was running out made her forget the cicadas and the texts books and the strawberry laces of his muscles.

She wanted him to buy ice cream and use it as war paint to colour her face in a tribal design. She wanted him to push her in the swimming pool with all her clothes on. She wanted him to sing horribly on the karaoke and dedicate it to her. She just wanted him, wanted him like she had done over the months when they’d lay tangled in the bed sheets, riding the high that came with so much freedom and expression of love.

“One last time.” She muttered into his lips, “One last time before our summer is over.”
“Our summer?” He questioned momentarily before the lust could claim him.
Yes, she sighed as his lips pushed against hers, Our summer.