He didn’t notice it right away.
It wasn’t desire in the obvious sense, not impatience or hunger. It was subtler than that. A quiet anticipation that settled in him as soon as they were close—an unspoken awareness that things would feel complete only after she moved where she always did.
On top.
Centered.
Certain.
He realized it one evening when she lingered longer than usual, staying beside him, tracing the moment out slowly. He felt calm, but also alert, as if something familiar hadn’t yet arrived.
And when she finally shifted, positioning herself with the same measured confidence, his body responded instantly.
Relief washed through him—not release, but recognition.
This was the rhythm they shared now.
He no longer wondered why she preferred it. He only noticed how deeply he trusted her when she did. The way she settled there told him she was present, engaged, fully herself. And in response, he felt chosen—not as someone to impress, but as someone she could be real with.
Waiting for her to take the top had become its own kind of intimacy.
It meant she was ready.
It meant she felt grounded.
It meant she was inviting him into her pace, her space, her sense of control.
And the fact that she always returned there made him feel something steady and rare: continuity.
In a world that constantly shifted, this was something they shared that didn’t need explanation.
