dried roses

Soft, small gasps. Hands gently pressing against his chest. Her eyes aren't courageous enough to reach his yet. His fingers hold her hips hard. His eyes, unlike hers, are bold and moving quickly to take in everything about her. It is not that she is weaker than him; she is holding back for what could happen and could come of the situation.

Her lips find the bravery, the recklessness, and kiss his collarbone. The power switches hands just like that. His confident eyes melt, and she has him entirely, touching his neck and throat with her slightly parted mouth.

His back discovers the wall, and his arms hold onto her as the two sink to the floor. Her kisses continue, and his hands move up to her hair, threading deep.