Spicy Hot
Now, stop talking.
I kiss her. Not gently. Not tenderly. Deeply, voraciously, as if I want to drink her soul. My tongue finds hers, tastes it, mingles. She responds with the same hunger, the same urgency. Her nails furrow my back, her legs wrap around my waist.
I enter her. Slowly. Deliberately. Slowly enough to feel every centimeter, every contraction, every tremor. She moans against my mouth, a stifled, hoarse sound. I drink it.