He leans back on the bed watching over the top of his book as she sits at the dressing table, unpinning her hair. I like the way your breasts rise when you raise your arms over your head, he thinks. But it does not arouse me as it did in those early days.

Each pin removed allows a few more strands to fall from the tightly coiled bun. 

She tilts her head to one side allowing the brush to stroke freely. The tendons at the side of her neck stand out.
He wonders silently, How many times have I buried my nose against those tendons? How many times have I inhaled your scent as I kissed you there on that hollow, just below your ear? 

But looking at her eyes in the mirror he knows he's lost her. He thinks to himself, It all seems so long ago. I wonder if she kissed you there.

Her nipples are pink and stand proud as the hair falls across them. He wonders if feeling her hair across her nipples arouses her. Is it softer than her lips?

She speaks softly, gently, “I love you, you know. But I’m in love with her.”

He remains silent, pretending to read.