The sun blocked out as he hovered over her, her eyes still closed as she blissfully attuned to the feel of his lips lightly on hers until it wasn’t enough. He was waiting for her bidding, she instinctively knew that. She could smell the bitter orange and bergamot undertones of his cologne, his breath mingling with hers, and after seconds that seemed to drag for ever she gave him her consent with her mouth, pressed her own lips into his.
The greeting was acknowledged by the reward of his cool tongue parting her lips, slipping inside, and that delicious taste of him, the intimate feel of his mouth inside hers, his tongue languorously capturing hers, playing a slow teasing game, long strokes that made her want more, countered by a tiny feather-light stroke on the tip of her tongue and then a gentle sucking as he dragged her deeper into him.
And it was the most erotic of kisses yet the most frustrating, because still nowhere else did he touch her. Only their mouths were touching only the
