And before I can form words, his lips are on mine. Something inside tells me not to kiss him back, that this is bad. This is very, very bad, but don’t we all like to feel like a dirty little whore sometimes? His large hands cup my face, and the way he touches me—I can’t not kiss him. I tilt my head, parting my lips to allow his tongue to dip inside my mouth. His wet chest presses against mine, his hold on my face tightens and the kiss grows more desperate, needier.
