This Kiss Was Totally Different

This Kiss Was Totally Different

 

Figure 1. KISSING REEDUS.

Figure 1. Reedus kissing this very fortunate dame in the movie Tough Luck. This has nothing to do with this post, which is due to reading way too many romance novels of late.

 

She began to realize that this was no ordinary kiss.

Because this kiss? This one, currently happening inside and around her mouth? Well. Let’s just say that this kiss, from this man, was beyond anything she’d ever experienced before, in her life, or in her mouth, or anywhere else where she could suddenly feel her body’s heat rise and respond to his punishingly sweet tongue and his bruisingly enjoyable muscles clenching her to him.

And this kiss wasn’t just full of passion and desire and beautiful turmoil and his hot lips devouring her sweet plush pink ones. Pressing forward, licking, sucking, taking what he wanted. Oh, no. This kiss meant something. Something that mattered. That she mattered. That his feeling for her was something unique. Otherworldly. Something deep and intense and severe and brutal and crushing with its yearning yet still somehow splendid and perfectly okay in terms of consent.

His arms gripped her with determined lust and uncontained strength that she hadn’t even know she had wanted so desperately to uncontain. She pressed herself shamelessly against him until her bones shuddered and his hands trembled down her spine and wrapped around her lush body like a waterfall or a flowering vine or something, like, unyielding and enthusiastic for the sunshine of erotic promise. You know. Something earthly and instinctual. That might know better but can’t help itself. Or maybe it can help itself. But it just wouldn’t because it was unable to hold back any longer. 106 pages of witty banter had broken him and now his lips were telling her that he would no longer be punished by her distance. That he would never let her go.

Because that’s how he was holding her. Like he would only let go because of death. He was holding her like there was nothing and no one else, now or ever, as important.

Holding her not like a piece of mere ass wrapped in 14 yards of muslin and petticoat cotton but like, you know, she was the sole meaning in a universe bereft of truth. Like she was the soil and he was the seed that ached to sink into it, all the way, rooting deep and tight, growing big and strong. Like she was the last opalescent drop of water in the desert of years he’d waited for love to come to him, far from the mindless pleasures of brothels he’d plowed through all his life, searching for a woman who deserved to know his heart and his mind and his secrets, not just receive with juicy abandon the expert level of bedplay skills he’d amassed in all those years toiling in the fleshpots of the Continent, waiting for the salvation that was her touch.

That’s what this kiss meant. So. Yeah. Take that to the bank, you guys. It was kind of a big deal.

 

 

 

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