Our lips was millimetres apart. That second stretched into eternity, I with flared nostrils, taking in the scent of him, of his skin, his hot breath on my mouth and the soft darkness under my closed eyelids. Waiting. Waiting for that spark to fly, to feel the first softness of his lips against mine, eager, curious. Waiting, almost not breathing but the sound of it irregular in my ears anyway. Waiting for him to move ahead those last millimetres, wondering vaguely whether he was waiting as I was. And when he hesitated, it dawned on me that he might be doing the exactly same thing. Savouring the closeness, the scent of us mingling between our lips, taking me in before he kissed me. When he finally did, it was like kittens playing. Soft, playful, warm, fuzzy, endearing, too good to be true. Intense. After a while; a hint of teeth on my bottomlip, a promise of more to come, something where playful and endearing turn into urgency to hold on to, to cling to, to bite a bit. I could har...
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