It’s so angry. His kiss. My response—even angrier. I grab his neck, intending to squeeze it, but instead my hands slide upward, fingers tangling in his hair. There is not enough air in my lungs as I try to keep up, taking everything he’s giving. God, his mouth . . . so hard, but somehow soft at the same time. Teeth biting at my lower lip. His fingers, still holding my chin. It’s madness. I can’t think. I don’t want to think.
