Lit: A Story

Prologue

I gaze on his nicely chiseled face.

He reaches for my hands. He cups them to his face. Languidly, I trace the slope that defines his features. My hand brushes his forehead, his cheek, his nose, his lips. Mine turns to a lopsided grin.

I pull myself to him. My hands encase his neck as his hands wrap around my waist. I straddle to him before diving to the pool of ecstasy.

Lurid. Passionate. I am left mute. The dance is a myriad of waltz, tango, salsa. I plant my kisses on his jaw line, to his throat, to his neck, to the arch of his broad shoulders.

Reaching for the pitcher of water, I douse the bonfire. He lies back, pulling me with him. I rest my head on his chest. He hums, lulling me to sleep.

I hope tonight will not steer us quickly to daybreak.