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Catalog
He had her pinned to the wall, his entire being was engulfing her. He put four fingers on her nape and his thumb on her jaw, all symbols for possession. "God, you're beautiful" he said and her cheeks promptly flushed at both the praise and how much she needed to hear it.
He could yank out nasty streams of unbelievable filth out of the nicest, vanilla and church-on-Sundays kind of girls but that wasn't what he wanted from her. He wants her to say 'yes', the rest can be handled later.
"I want to kiss you. May I kiss you?"
When she said 'yes' it's six kinds of a miracle and a seventh on Sunday that he doesn't die right there. He sweeps in for the first contact, butterflies and elephants in his stomach. Apparently, she had two settings: yes and no. Once she was at yes, everything was on the table.
He kissed like it was going out of style, like she was the grand prize; like she was the fucking lottery that he'd just won all by himself. She kissed slow, like there's nothing else to do and she's got all the time to do it.
He catalogs the moment: the sun high in the sky, burning their skin with sharp prickles; the cheesy 80's song playing over a radio somewhere close; the taste of salt and watermelon; the way she smiled at him with a haunting look of embarrassed satisfaction. She rests her head on his shoulder, thanking him for something he never should have done in the first place.
He could yank out nasty streams of unbelievable filth out of the nicest, vanilla and church-on-Sundays kind of girls but that wasn't what he wanted from her. He wants her to say 'yes', the rest can be handled later.
"I want to kiss you. May I kiss you?"
When she said 'yes' it's six kinds of a miracle and a seventh on Sunday that he doesn't die right there. He sweeps in for the first contact, butterflies and elephants in his stomach. Apparently, she had two settings: yes and no. Once she was at yes, everything was on the table.
He kissed like it was going out of style, like she was the grand prize; like she was the fucking lottery that he'd just won all by himself. She kissed slow, like there's nothing else to do and she's got all the time to do it.
He catalogs the moment: the sun high in the sky, burning their skin with sharp prickles; the cheesy 80's song playing over a radio somewhere close; the taste of salt and watermelon; the way she smiled at him with a haunting look of embarrassed satisfaction. She rests her head on his shoulder, thanking him for something he never should have done in the first place.
