His kiss—my god, his kiss! It’s urgent and greedy, as if it’s something he needs, as opposed to something he’s doing. I can’t remember the last time kissing felt like this.
I don’t think it ever has.
It’s enough to make me forget where I am and whom I’m with. Then his hand slides into the back of my jeans, and reality slaps me in the face.
Which is exactly what I do to him.