by M. Leighton
“I came for the peaches,” he says quietly. He reaches up to take the toothpick from between his lips. I watch, spellbound, as his face gets closer and closer. “I need a taste before I go,” he whispers, his sweet cinnamon breath fanning my lips.
And then his mouth is brushing mine. I don’t even think to resist. In fact, I don’t think at all. I only feel.
His lips are soft against mine and he smells like soap and clean sweat. His touch is feather light until he tilts his head to the side and deepens the kiss. I feel his tongue trace the crease of my lips until I part them to let him in. In long, leisurely strokes, his tongue licks at mine, like he’s savoring the flavor of it. I savor him right back, drinking in the hint of cinnamon in his mouth. I lean toward him, bracing myself on the counter, afraid my legs won’t hold me up much longer.
Finally, he leans back and looks down into my stunned face. “Mmm, that’s the sweetest peach I’ve had in a long time,” he purrs. When he winks at me, I feel a gush of heat pour into my stomach like hot lava.
Without another word, he turns and walks away.
COMING MARCH 4, 2014
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Document ID: 810b22aa-631c-4402-b45e-f3741a2c4247
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Document creation date: 25.10.2013
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