Contentment

The feel of his hand on the small of my back. His fingers drumming against my skin to the beat of the music. His body protecting mine against the crowd. Leaning into him, the solidness of an oak holding me there. Holding me present, not allowing me to completely focus on the band. My thoughts dance between the feel of his touch and the feel of the bass reverberating through my body, the mixture of the two is intoxicating. He leans down to hear what I have to say, his ear and neck so dangerously close to my lips that I have to consciously hold myself back from kissing him each time. I fail on occasion.