In bed.
With nothing to hold us back.
Lips slide. Breath mingles. Hands get in on the action. With my thumb, I trace lines along her cheek and chin, mapping the shape of her face with my fingers. I let my senses flood with the taste and feel of Emerson, like I’m savoring a glass of wine, its flavors filling my mind.
The faint hint of cinnamon from her toothpaste. The lingering scent of grapefruit from that face mask. Her clean, showery smell.
Most of all, the taste of her hunger too.
It radiates off her.
It comes in the soft murmurs she makes. In the pressure of her lips. In the eager exploration of her tongue as she kicks the kiss up a notch, deepening it, like she wants to know exactly what this kiss could be.
It’s a whole-body kiss, one I feel in my shoulders, in my stomach, in my fucking balls.
I want to remember every second of this. I want to recall this intoxicating kiss the next day and the next and the next.
But all moments break apart…
Order Shut Up and Kiss Me everywhere!
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