23

His lips were on me now—the only way I knew was from the wetness of his tongue. They started at my knee, kissing higher, leaving crumbs of tingles. His mouth wasn’t moving fast, but it was still hard to distinguish his whereabouts because his hands were everywhere—across both legs, flirting with the bottom of my skirt, taunting my inner thighs.

It all felt so good.

I wasn’t breathing.

I was only moaning.

And I couldn’t stop.

When I could finally suck in a breath, each exhale dragged through my lungs before I quickly filled them again. I couldn’t hold on to air for too long. I needed the release. I needed to control something, my breathing the only thing I had power over.

His lips went higher.

I still couldn’t tell his precise location. Sensations were starting to jumble, touches were turning to licks, kisses were now bites. My body was overwhelmed. I couldn’t grip, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t prepare.

I just had to take it.

And listen.

And feel.

And when his mouth eventually landed on