On the Mountain

by Riley Hart

“Don’t move,” I ordered, and he nodded. My heart banged against my chest, blood rushing through my ears as I leaned in and pressed my lips to his again. Cyrus started to shake, but he did his best not to shift even an inch. He was so good for me, always so good for me. It was that thought that made me lash at his lips with my tongue, tasting them this way for the first time. “Open.” My lips brushed his as I muttered that one word, and he did. I flicked my tongue into his mouth and nearly went weak in the knees. This…yes, I wanted this, so much. He tasted so sweet, so mine. “You can move now, little lamb,” and when I pushed my tongue into his mouth again, he danced his with mine, kissing and sucking, licking and tasting. I was drunk off him, addicted to him, hands on his hips, fingers pressing into his skin as I kissed and kissed and kissed. I was mesmerized with how our tongues moved together, how they played and wrestled, and the feel of his smaller body against mine. My hands tangled in his hair, never wanting this moment to end. When he whimpered, I swallowed it down. Was this what kissing was like for everyone? I didn’t think so. It hadn’t been for me all those years ago, and nothing between Cyrus and me was like it was between anyone else.