Your palms press flat against her skin, fingers spreading wide like you own every inch of what's underneath them. The contrast is sharp — your knuckles, her curve, the slight give of flesh where you grip tighter than you planned to.

She shifted just before the shot, which is why one hip tilts higher, which is why your left thumb digs in deeper. The photo caught something neither of you staged.

You keep coming back to your own hands in this image, almost not recognizing them. Possessive. Certain. Resting exactly where they were always supposed to land.