He lifts my lower back up so I’m parallel to the ground, then kisses me with an intensity and brightness that until now has been a foreign feeling to me—the kind of feeling that love songs are written about, what romance novels are made of. I can taste my own salty slick on his tongue, but when it’s undercut by the sweetness of his mouth, it doesn’t bother me. Hayes Hollings just rocked my fucking world.
