a taste that haunts,
a mouth that’s grieved,
all dark devotion and sweet ruin?—
a kiss felt for centuries.
The taste of him is champagne fuzz,
cut by winter blueberry bite,
the rush of warmth spilling over snow.
My skin's buzzing.
Every nerve-ending is reaching for his fingertips.
I melt against him, breathing the words?—
“I don’t wanna fuck you.”
His laugh breaks ragged,
forehead dropping to mine,
hand locking around my jaw.
“Good,” he rasps.
“I don’t fuck New York girls anyway.”
He's back on me, tongue sweeping inside.
His other hand smooths across my thigh,
finds my ass,
grips tight,
grinding me down against his erection.
One long, devastating drag across his cock,
showing me everything that could be mine.
He groans?—
low, shredded, straight into my mouth.
It rips through me,
making me wonder how it would feel with him inside me, the sounds he'd make when he doesn’t hold back.
And it terrifies me.
I’ve never wondered until he came along.
He pulls back to meet my eyes,
