I stopped breathing.

It wasn’t the touch of his lips that did it. It was the deliberate way he ran his hand through my hair, gripped the back of my neck and pulled me close. It was the way he licked his lips as he looked into my eyes, into me, and smiled a little at what he saw. When he leaned close, my heart pounded. I molded myself to him, taking his heat. When our lips touched, I knew I was home. Complete. Loved.

He kissed me as if he never wanted to let go. I won’t let him.