It was that intense.
There was that slippery warmth in my belly, making my skin tingle, and my hands shake. It was the warm wetness of his lips, the way they kissed me until I had no idea where we were.
It was the electric feeling of his hands gently cradling my face. Those big, strong hands touching me so gently, thumbs brushing my jaw.
It was his eyes, a gorgeous chocolate brown, with tiny flickers of gold, like his eyes had pieces of the sun in them.
It was the baked furnace feel of his hands touching me, like his touch left an imprint, a tattoo, a burn.
It became his hands buried in my shoulders, when I tried to (reluctantly) push him away.
It became me wanting him to bruise me with his handprints, to mark me with the force of his kiss.
When the hotness of his mouth trailed fluttering kisses down my neck, to my collarbone, burning me from the inside, I looked at him, really looked at him.
His lips were swollen from our kisses (they looked like mine felt) tender and pink and oh so enticing.
I stood there, shaking, his hands holding my shoulders, and in that instant, I felt that ache of how long it's been since I've felt, since I've let myself feel, since I had the courage to just let go.
When I looked at him again, our eyes caught, and I felt the electricity between us. I felt the warmth coming off him in waves.
He slid his hand against my cheek, and ran the ball of his thumb over my lips.
"Your mouth--" he said wonderingly, his eyes moving down to my lips, before returning to my eyes.
And he kissed me again.