The first kiss probably looked pretty innocent to anyone who might have been watching. It was the tail end of their first meeting, a short stint in a coffee shop, and as they prepared to part ways he impulsively tugged her into a tight embrace and pressed his lips to her cheek. Perfectly innocent.
Except that it wasn’t, and the chemistry that she was experiencing amped up its game - lighting up every nerve ending in her body. It was all she could do not to pull his mouth to hers. They disentangled with shaking hands and reddened faces.
And she replayed the scenario in her mind for days afterwards, wondering what it would feel like to really kiss him. Her heart beat wildly in the darkness and she yearned, not knowing that so did he.
The second kiss was a beautiful accident. They were chilling out at her place, watching a film, when in the middle of an “aha!” moment they turned to face each other. So close, too close. She made to pull back and he gave chase, sliding his thumb under her jaw and their lips met. Just a whisper of contact, but there was more heat and promise in that small exchange than any gnashing of tongues or teeth.
Returning their attention to the film, they sat - shoulders touching and basking in each others presence. Neither could tell you what happened in the rest of the film.
And then one night, she spent it with him in his room - his arms wrapped around her and their mouths slanted together. Her teeth caught his bottom lip, tugging gently, and the sound he made set fire to her blood. His hands weren’t idle, grasping at her hair, her waist, her shoulders. She clung to his neck for dear life as his tongue slid against hers.
He shuddered against her and she pulled him nearer, feeling the fluttering in his chest. Blue eyes gazed down at her, a silent question, and she responded by shifting in his lap to straddle him. He pressed open mouthed kisses to her neck, nipping at the soft flesh, and the fever welled up inside her, threatening to spill out. She sank her pale fingers into his dark hair, twisting the strands around her digits and he loosed a wanton moan against her throat.
A naughty wiggle against his hips alerted her to how perilous this situation had become. Their mouths met again and she found herself beneath him, back pressed into the flannel sheets of his bed. His slim body molded with hers and with every breath his hardness surged against her hip.
She wanted to touch him, to feel that stiffened member against her core, to wrap her fingers around him. And he wanted it as well, growing bold enough to place her hand over the fly of his jeans. The press of her palm had him gasping into the groove between her neck and shoulder.
There was no resisting. She’d been doomed from the start. There’s no such thing as an innocent kiss.