When it finally happened it was both torment and bliss.
The kiss was messy, chaotic, and perfect - because of all their own imperfections. Because of his anger and her grief. The chip on his shoulder and the crater in her chest. Because he needed her more than he needed air but for once could not find the right words, and because she felt truly whole only in his presence but had spent too long pretending otherwise.
So instead his lips crushed painfully against hers, telling her magical stories with all the fiery passion he poured into his speeches. Hers in turn fought desperately to heal him, with the same fierce determination of her hands at work on a fresh injury.
His body, hard and lean (and so at home in the forest it often seemed to her he was at least half wild animal), pressed hungrily against the soft curves of her (those curves that called to him the way a river calls to the parched sinner, singing seductively of release and redemption).
Their breath mingled: sweet, hot, heavy with need. They sank into each other, unable to recall any previous perfection that compared to this one raw, flawless moment.
** Please be kind as you review; this one is possibly my favorite. **