Stolen Moments of a Smitten Girl – A Short Romance Story | Flash Fiction
Molten lava now fills the void that is my body. I am fire. My insides have liquefied and it’s because of him.
My eyes never leave him as he orders us a drink at the bar.
A bar made of old distressed wood, sultry beats and uber cool staff. Our second date and already I’m under his spell. His effortless coolness, tousled bed hair, slim fit shirt, pinstripe pants and red converse boots.
His eyes are a hook and I am easy bait for them. They reeled me in. Emerald green with a secret sparkle, encrusted by a fanfare of the kind of long lashes girls would kill for. I am entranced by the lure of them, a treasure hinted but yet to be discovered, calling me and setting my world alight.
Returning to our booth amidst the dimly lit lounge, he slides in beside me, placing a rather impressive red cocktail in front of me. The colour is fitting. I smirk to myself. My lips become instantly dry at his proximity to me as my breathing quickens. My tongue sweeps over them in a disguised movement offering them moisture. There is no distance between us. His thigh against my thigh, his shoulder against my shoulder.
Turning to say something, his voice box fails him. Silence befalls. Only his lips know what they want, and they charge towards me, like a king into battle, and determined to arrive at the desired outcome.
But it’s a given, I’m already conquered.
My lips are a mirror to his, urgency surging through me as though this was the last kiss of my life. The moment of contact electrifies everything already surging inside me. His lips, large and tender engulf me. The world could be exploding and I wouldn’t know it. His arms embracing me, pulling me tighter to his chest, where I want to be, my hard nipples prominently digging into him.
I inhale deeply through my nose not wanting to break our mouths apart, as our tongues deliver their intimate serenade of each other.
Oh… I don’t want this moment to end.
I want more and I want it now. Our mouths increasing their tempo, tongue lashing tongue, around, and around and around. His hands finding the curve of my bottom and squeezing.
The mere touch alluding to something more… yet to be enjoyed.