His skin smelled of fire and his lips tasted of sweet honey and harsh tobacco;
his hot breath on my neck sent messages on butterfly wings from my spine to my small stomach,
sending all my blood to my head, making my pale face ignite into bright crimson.


The touch of his fingertips on my skin were kisses without lips,
he gave them to me each time we pulled away for air;
we inhaled sharply, tasting the sweat, tension, and anticipation in the air.
I couldn't stand to not have my lips on his,
and back we went to playing games with each other's tongues.


     Kissing the skin stretched over the bones in his chest,
along with the dying passion marks I had left several nights before,
I had no choice but to revive them; remind him.
Remind him for several days to come of our nights together,
of our passion, and our lust.


     He squirmed as I twirled and flicked my warm tongue across the soft, fragile flesh of his neck,
writing out love letters, and confessions of the heart,
along with profanities about his past lovers.



     I knew it was wrong; every touch, every kiss, every breath we exchanged,
my mind told me so with every single nerve he excited within me.
But something deeper inside of me protested,
told me I wanted this; that I needed it.

Perhaps it was animal instinct, I haven't any idea,

But in that moment, I wanted nothing more than for this to be the right thing.

I fought a battle between my conscience and my instincts,
my mind and my heart.



But I realized my mind was no longer in control of my body
as I unclenched the teeth of the zipper on my pants,
peeled away the layers of cotton, polyester, and denim that separated us,
and let myself begin to fall for a man I hardly knew.