There was a heat growing within the depths of his heart and was spreading to every single part of his body, he was sure if he was to look in a mirror right now his blue skin would be nothing but purple. He had never, ever this this way before, this longing, this affection, some desire and the butterflies that had suddenly erupted in his stomach were flying in praise of her, celebrating what she had done to him and was doing to him.
His hands tried their best not to shake, truly they did but the only way to do it would be to grip at her tighter and he couldn’t do that to her like this. She was still recovering, still bruised in places he was sure of and wouldn’t dare try to find out like this. It would be horrible if he worsened a bruise at a pivotal moment like this.
Her mouth suddenly felt so much… more? Hrm, words were beginning to stop working within his artistically minded mind. Which was a shock since he had been raised in a home of art, music, writing and expression that made art such a simple thing for him to handle. Poetry, writing, it was all a part of who he was and yet now he couldn’t begin to think of the right word to describe how he felt now. What she felt like.
The blue man’s tongue only just touched her bottom lip before he broke the kiss. Not because he wanted to, Heavens no if he could have he would have held the kiss for as long as the world itself would spin around the sun but breathing was something he, and she, needed in order to survive. His lips didn’t leave hers entirely; technically they were still touching, but far enough apart to allow the two parties to breathe.
Her eyes were dark as they opened slightly, her hands still clinging to his shirt tightly, the cloth at his back showing off his form for anyone who could see. Her mouth panted against him, her breath mingling with his.
He had literally taken the breath away from her, her feelings making her bold, wanting and craving his affection as well as wishing to give. She could have sworn she felt his tongue on her lips and her tongue darted out to lick at her own, accidentally brushing up against his.
Could a love really be so strong? She wondered as she looked up into his eyes, enjoying his scent and proximity.
His eyes, bright, green, acidic, unlike normal green eyes you would see on people from time to time, stared back into her own with a look that she thought only existed in films and literature. His eyes were always so expressive of his feelings, denying him, fighting him, exposing when he felt most vulnerable despite trying to hid it behind a mask.
But they were as open, and honest, as always and he was looking at her as if she was the only woman in the world, the most beautiful, most important, most special… as if she was it, and he knew how lucky he was to be this close to her. Because, honestly, he knew how lucky he was. Almost thirty years old, Jack Maple was, and had gone this long without a girl showing the slightest bit of interest in him. The fact that her, the soft spoken photographer, had welcomed him like this into her heart was nothing short of a miracle for him.
He smiled against her lips, shakily, and he returned the sensation of her tongue just touching his bottom lip by doing the same. He, slightly cheekily, slightly shyly, slid his tongue out and brushed it against her bottom lip.
Jack Maple 