He tasted of debauchery, of decadent sin. I wanted more of it. I threaded my fingers through his hair, the sound of my heartbeat drowning out the moans and gasps we exchanged between us. All my blood rushed to my clit, to the tips of my nipples, to my toes as they curled over the cheap plywood. For the first time, I understood the term “falling in love.” This was what it felt like: plunging into something dark and delicious and unknown. Gravity abandoned me. My knees buckled. Our kiss deepened, becoming faster, more desperate, urgent to steal more, more, more before we got caught.
