I can see why I didn't publish all of these now haha there's a RECURRING theme that makes 2012 me look like I had nothing but the frick-frack on the brain.
It was, at the very worst, a slip-up when he kissed her goodnight on the cheek.
It was a mistake when he kissed her on the mouth (well, he'd been getting to it, but she'd impatiently grabbed his face and mashed his lips to hers herself).
It was a little inappropriate when he'd come back for more, gripping her shoulders while she shoved her hands in his jacket.
It was much more inappropriate when he knotted his fingers up in her boyish hair, holding her closer.
It was downright scandalous when he slid his hands up her shirt (but delicious when she'd sighed and reciprocated the gesture).
It was horribly unbecoming when he let her toss the offending garments aside, let her press her bare chest to his, let her grab his hands and place them around her telltale anatomy, just over her frenzied heart.
It was abhorrent when, in an alien fit of terrifying passion, he pinned her down and buried them both in a mess of skin and sheets.
And now, it was positively sinful that he'd let her strip down to her flesh, just to prove a point (there is a girl under here), and that he couldn't stop drinking in the sight of her, couldn't stop marveling and touching and squeezing, couldn't stop wanting. God, he wanted her.
Absolutely sinful.
Slender hips, sinuous muscle, grace and ferocity like a tigeresque's.
A right mess, really.
Bright eyes, impish grin, swollen lips and flushed, inviting skin, her engines humming like a Stormwalker's.
An impending disaster.
Her breathy voice in his ear—that charming inflection—coaxing him through ingrained notions of virtue and propriety to a dark, shadowed place of temptation where she was the only source of light and the air smelled of her skin.
He looks her over. Legs, shoulders, stomach—freckled and fit, all of it, the body of a goddess of war—an expression he has no name for, not in any of his plethora of languages. Like desire disguised as a dare. It makes him feel as though he's sick with some sort of glorious fever.
Damnation? Bring it.
Mistakes? Bring all of them.