He looks at her with eyes that hold something more than friendly, for they are not friends, but not quite lovers. Although, he is the only one who presses on the latter, between the two of them. She loves him, that much is certain, as certain as the memory that still plays in his head– one that streams the feel of her lips against his, repeatedly, until he starts to feel the same hunger, the thirst becoming known at the back of his throat. His eyes flit to her lips, for a moment, and as he feels the strings inside him snip one by one; the sound of the ribbon tearing to free whatever worn, beating organ that is inside him, he returns his gaze to her mouth once again (longer this time), because he cannot repress the need, the pleasure he keeps on denying himself from.
When he stops the car and parks it on the sidelines, she turns to him in a questioning look. He looks down at his lap, feeling the last of the binds loosen, that when he takes an inhalation of breath, he feels free and thrumming with an energy that feels so youthful but not entirely out of place in his grown body.
With another inhale that was trembling (only lightly), he lowers his head to meet her lips. But before their mouths press, he catches her disbelieving stare, as if thinking that he was just a dream she didn’t expect to come true– and there, yes, before he tastes her lips once again, he asks–berates– himself for having denied her so long of something so unadulterated, and so, so good.
As she makes a sound, a vibration of delight spilling from her lips, he has to smile against her mouth. The sound rings in his ears, more so than the erratic compressing and tightening of his heart. It feels so entirely simple that when they both lose their breath and separate, they have to return to each other’s lips right after a quick intake of air.
When they part, he has to freeze; hovering over her, figuring out if it was just normal for a girl to look at him with such gratitude, when all he gave her was a kiss that he took for himself just as much as it was given to her.
When his chest tightens with what he suspects is the exact same throb that resonates within her, he has to drop his eyes from her face and rest it upon his own hand that was holding the side of her neck. He wets his lips, and for a second he doubts words would function upon his tongue.
“I think maybe I…”
Maybe I love you too: Dec 26, 2015 11:56:28 PM
When he stops the car and parks it on the sidelines, she turns to him in a questioning look. He looks down at his lap, feeling the last of the binds loosen, that when he takes an inhalation of breath, he feels free and thrumming with an energy that feels so youthful but not entirely out of place in his grown body.
With another inhale that was trembling (only lightly), he lowers his head to meet her lips. But before their mouths press, he catches her disbelieving stare, as if thinking that he was just a dream she didn’t expect to come true– and there, yes, before he tastes her lips once again, he asks–berates– himself for having denied her so long of something so unadulterated, and so, so good.
As she makes a sound, a vibration of delight spilling from her lips, he has to smile against her mouth. The sound rings in his ears, more so than the erratic compressing and tightening of his heart. It feels so entirely simple that when they both lose their breath and separate, they have to return to each other’s lips right after a quick intake of air.
When they part, he has to freeze; hovering over her, figuring out if it was just normal for a girl to look at him with such gratitude, when all he gave her was a kiss that he took for himself just as much as it was given to her.
When his chest tightens with what he suspects is the exact same throb that resonates within her, he has to drop his eyes from her face and rest it upon his own hand that was holding the side of her neck. He wets his lips, and for a second he doubts words would function upon his tongue.
“I think maybe I…”
Maybe I love you too: Dec 26, 2015 11:56:28 PM
