We stumble in through the door soaking wet from the downpour outside; you push me against a wall, and feverishly, you take off my shirt. I follow your lead and take off yours. You press your body hard against mine; I'm whispering all the things I want to do to you in your ear. Our hands are everywhere at once, touching, caressing, knowing, liking.
We're kissing like it's a form of clasping. Thunder booms outside, I shudder; you laugh softly, pulling me in closer. You press your lips back against mine, gently at first, slowly, passionately, applying more pressure moments later, and picking up the pace. We're making out now, not like two sex-crazed teenagers; we're kissing like we mean it. It feels like it's the only thing in the world that matters, that we're the only thing in the world that has ever mattered.
You bite my lip, and I smile, returning the favor a second later. You decide, a couple minutes in that you should try progressing. Our conversation now is purely motions, no words are necessary here, the sounds we're making clearly say it all. You place your hand on my chest remembering the place that you had missed. You feel my heart start to race, I gasp. This is all moving in the right direction, perfect timing, perfect setting, and perfect situation. I break free from our lip-lock and start kissing my way down your neck, across your shoulder and down your chest. Down, down, down. I trace your zipper with my fingers, I unbutton your jeans, and I make my way back to your face. I press my lips hard against yours; long pecks, random bites, and just the slightest bit of tongue.
