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You were right, Lee Minho was a fucking amazing kisser.
Since the moment you met him, you'd wondered what it would be like to kiss him. While your friend were skipping between guys like a game of hopscotch, your eyes had never strayed. Even when people called you crazy or delulu, you had (perhaps stupidly) ignored them, because you just didn't want anyone else. Sure, you had slept around. Quite a bit, actually. A girl had needs, and since you knew he wasn't interested in you, you found a way to satisfy them.
Only temporarily, of course. Because nothing could satisfy your craving for him.
But you kept hope that Minho was the guy for you, and even when you were extremely upset at him, or when you thought he hated you, subconsciously, you didn't give up. Your feelings for him had never faded. If anything, they'd matured, and grown. Despite the fact that the two of you had only spent a couple of days together after (sort of) admitting your feelings, things seemed to be moving fast. But at the same time, it wasn't forced or unnatural. You'd known him for so long, it just felt like coming home.
When Minho p grabbed your face and pulled you in for a kiss, you had to inwardly pinch yourself, so you could stay present for the moment. Even if he was your husband, who knew when that would happen again?
You wrapped your arms around his neck, surging forward to kiss him back. But he didn't stumble, or move away. Instead, he accepted your strength, his hand still lingering at your chin as he deepened the kiss, his teeth nibbling your bottom lip.
You let out a quiet sigh, pressing closer to him, a hand sliding into his hair and gripping as you opened your mouth to invite him in. His tongue brushed against yours, and reciprocated, allowing them to tangle and dance with each other. He tasted like cinnamon and vanilla, and you wanted nothing more than to sit here and devour every bit of him that he would give you.
