Iris & Arthur
Iris
Arthur’s mouth is warm and soft against mine, but his kiss is insistent, hungry, needy. His lips move against mine with a hot, heavy fervor, as if he needs the taste of me to keep on living.
I don’t think. I just move, pressing more firmly against his body. My head drops back, giving him better access to the deep recesses of my mouth. He pushes me back against the coats, one hand slipping down to grip my thigh, pulling my leg upward so it hitches around his hip. I feel something warm strain against his trousers, and it sends a thrill through me that I can’t ignore.
I want this. No, I need this. As our lips and limbs tangle in the dark closet, hands pushing fabric out of the way, legs stumbling back against the hard wall, I feel completely and utterly driven
