His kisses were fire, and his kisses were ice. They could somehow burn your insides, and freeze your senses all at once. His lips captured mine, and immediately sent me into shock. My eyes refused to meet his. That made it too personal. After all; it was never about love.
He pushed me down onto the bed, and my pulse beat faster. Still, my eyes stayed lowered. I could feel his breath, burning against my neck, and my whole body trembled beneath him. It was almost animalistic, the level on which I needed him so desperately. It was purely physical; two people enjoying the way they could make the other react. It wasn't about love.
We moved with a force that demonstrated passion. Raw passion, built up, and then released. A blind desire that couldn't be ignored. When I was fire, he was ice. We somehow knew without words what the other needed. Physically speaking, of course. I mean, it was never about love.
Then, he entered me. When he did, he filled me, body, and soul. It never occurred to me to be scared. All I knew was the way I felt, and the way I felt couldn't be explained. My world was crashing in around me, and I had no way of stopping. The scary part is, I didn't want it to stop. I couldn't bring myself to end it. But, it couldn't have been love.
Then, the worst thing possible happened. I lifted my eyes, and they met his. Immediately, I knew I had made a mistake. I had crossed the line. That line. The line where lust met something new. The line where it became something different, something more personal. The line between love and sex.
His lips bruised mine with their rough yet gentle passion. They said more than words, more than his body. Yet the thing that haunted my dreams the most was that look in his eyes. The look that said I was needed, the look that told me what I'd been running from all along. He was mine, I was his. It was a silent understanding, an obsessive possesion. I knew, he knew, and that knowing filled our souls.
As our sweaty bodies lay collapsed atop one another,our eyes met once more, and it was then that I knew. No, it was never about love. It was a passion that couldn't be denied, a need that couldn't be satisfied. It was me, it was him. Ginny Weasley, fire. Draco Malfoy, ice. Most of all, it was real. It was love.