First Kiss

First Kiss

“Come here. Let’s try this.”

You’re breaking your own rules, and there’s a part of me, forever the rebel, the Bad Influence Bear, doing a smug little jig in the corner of my mind even as Sensible Rosie quirks an internal eyebrow and wonders if I’m setting myself up for a hard fall. But I’m not going to decline; I want it, you want it, we’ve been dancing around it, drawing closer to the inevitable, our conversations peppered with what ifs and yes buts, as we both tried so hard to be our best, most responsible, grown-up selves while our pulses pounded and possibilities flared. Our chemistry is undeniable, tingle-inducing bridges of volts and jolts spark between us, humming in harmony with shared confidences and volleys of speculative, flirtatious banter.

So no, I don’t decline. I step right up to you, put myself squarely in your hunter’s sights, tilting my head upwards to grant you access. It’s just a kiss, right? Worth a go – if it’s awkward, or just quite nice, we can wipe our lips with genially embarrassed smiles, joke about venture and gain, move on safe in the knowledge that we gave it a go and for all our talk it just wasn’t meant to be.

Your lips are soft, skin stubble-rough, breath warm and vaguely tea-scented and yeah, so far, so very not bad, but then you twine one hand in my hair, grasping a firm handful, fuck yes, the other cupping my jaw to hold my face to yours, dear gods yes, and you are devouring my mouth, robbing me of breath and sense in a blaze of mutual want. You lead, confident and charismatic; I do not follow, I meld, flow around you; obedient, welcoming, malleable.

Holding me in place, one hand making a rope of my curls as the other strokes my face, fingers my lower lip, pulls me closer, draws me deeper. Delicate caresses, iron grip, greedy mouth, holy fuck. Way beyond hot.

There’s a particular intimacy to kissing that other acts of lust just can’t match – faces so close, sharing breath, sharing mouths, feeling each other inside one another. I lose all sense of time, place, self; there’s only your hands and our lips, teeth and tongues-

-until you draw back to study me, to pin my reactions and dissect them, for knowledge is power and wielding power is as much your kinky thing as obeisant wantonness is mine.

What do you see in my flushed face and wide eyes? Desire, unquestionably. Raw, naked fuck-lust for your mouth and your hands and your mind, more more please. Respect, for anyone who can rob me of the power of speech unaccessorised, is surely a force to be reckoned with. I scan your face for any sign of discomfort, trepidation, regret; find none there, or in me.

So, we’re doing this then? I ask myself silently, and every part of me answers yes. Oh yes.

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