His lips just graze hers, but it sends a hot shock all the way through her. Heat rushes to her head, and one of her feet slip down off the stair. She falls into him, her lips parting as she gasps, her hands grasping his shoulders.
Stiles catches her effortlessly, his arms wrapping around her, holding her steady. He's so clumsy and uncoordinated so much of the time that it's easy to forget how strong he actually is.
He takes advantage of her parted lips, tilting his head to drag his lips across hers achingly slow. Malia's hands reflexively tighten on his shoulders, he's so warm and solid beneath her fingers. How can he already be so warm again after only a few hours? She's still freezing, but under his touch she can feel herself steadily thawing.
He's so close...so warm...and he smells deplorably good covered in her scent. It makes the coyote in her chest growl low in approval. He smells as he should, he smells like hers.
But that's just the thing...she isn't sure that he is anymore. Malia's hands curl into firsts on his shirt, as she tears her mouth away from his.
"Stiles..." she gasps, but before she can finish her thought, she's distracted by the warmth of his hands skimming up her sides. Stiles shifts on the stairs, and in an instant he has her crowded up against the wall.
Her breathing hitches as his stubble rasps against the cool skin of her neck, as he dips his head nosing the collar of her sweater aside. He finds that sweet spot on her neck with his lips, the spot that has her sagging back against the wall practically purring. She really can't help it — she honestly can't. She might be a badass werecoyote, but this boy is her weakness — and he hasn't kissed her like this for weeks.
Of their own accord her hands slide up his chest. She grips at his hair with one hand, and clings to his shoulder with the other. They're so close she can feel his heart racing through his shirt, right up against hers. His fingers skim beneath the hem of her sweater, and heat pools along her skin everywhere he's touching her. The heat is so thick in the air all around them that she's finding it hard to catch her breath.
Malia's eyes fall closed as she opens and closes her fist in his hair. Stiles growls softly against her throat and Malia shudders, arching her neck into him at the feel of how it buzzes across her skin. She's seized by a deeply primal sort of feminine pride, pride that she is the one to elicit such an animal response from him, this very human male.
He tilts his head up, skimming his nose along her jaw, slowly. His warm breath brushes along her ear. He nuzzles along the shell of her ear before ducking his head and gently tugging on her earlobe with his lips, before adding just a rasp of his teeth.
Malia practically whines in her throat as he shifts his attention away from the sensitive skin of her ear. But the plaintive little sound dies the second he catches her face in his hands and kisses her ardently.
His thumbs stroke along her jaw, as he angles his head back and forth, his mouth slanting hotly against hers. One of his hands slip up the back of her neck and peels off her toque, freeing her hair from being tapped beneath the warm winter cap, and tossing the toque blindly on the stairs.
The kiss slows, as he cards his fingers lovingly through her silky brown hair. Somehow she manages to grasp a shred of self-control and twists her head away. Her hands fist in the front of his shirt, as she tries to hold him away from herself. She unconsciously rocks into his space but she manages, just barely to resist the lure of his mouth. She scowls at herself, even her body is simultaneously pushing and pulling him all at once.
"Stiles," she manages to grit out, as he fixes those sinfully brown eyes on her. "Y-you're confusing me..."