He’s breathing heavily, his chest rising up and down in quick, short bursts. I trail my finger down the middle of his six pack, and then run my whole hand back up his chest. His button-up shirt is open, and he stares at me as I trace his neck, lips, nose, eyes…
I’m straddling his waist, but we both still have our jeans on, and I’m going to keep it that way. I’m not an easy girl, and all I’m prepared to do with him is kiss, even if we have been together for thirteen months.
I lean forward, millimeters from his mouth, and pull back a little, teasing him. I see the lust in his eyes, and decide not to torture him any longer. My lips rest lightly on his, and then he grabs me and pulls me closer. We kiss for a while, and when we finally notice that there’s a definite possibility of passing out due to lack of oxygen, we part.
The taste of his lips linger on mine, a combination of romance, peanut butter, and that sweet, sweet flavor we humans like to call love.
I open my eyes, and see him looking at me again.