I want to look away, but I find myself doing the same, staring at his lips. I don’t let myself think this time as I lift my head and meet his lips halfway. He softly kisses me, not rushing with lust or hungrily like something he needs to get over with. He takes his time as if he were savoring me. When he pulls back, he smiles down at me, places a chaste kiss to my forehead and holds me like I’m his. It’s dangerous I know, but at this moment, I pretend like I am his and not a disintegrating mess.
