implied ferard. moved from my DA.
His thumb brushed lightly over the corner of my slightly opened mouth. His breathing deepened, as did mine, and he leaned in closer, but not yet closing the gap between our awaiting lips. He whispered up into my ear, "This is wrong." It was barely audible and my ears strained to hear his voice. He brought his face back to mine, staring into my eyes once again, "But I guess I could make an exception."
And with that our lips connected, sending shivers of joy down my spine. It was not a forced kiss. We had both wanted to be there, in eachother's arms, on eachother's mouths. He pressed his chest closer to me, completely closing the gap between our bodies.
His tongue smoothed over my semi-parted lips, asking for more. I allowed him further into my mouth, as I went further into his. The feeling of tastebuds and silky saliva sent me into some kind of pseudo-sexual pleasure. I had been waiting for so long.
His hands roamed down the front of my body, before settling on the small of my back. My fingers smoothed over his toned chest, before looping themselves through the beltloops of his faded jeans. I pulled him closer, if it was at all possible, continueing to deepen the kiss without any hesitation.
This is what I wanted. What I needed. What I had been waiting for.
We soon ended our heated, passion-filled kiss, leaving behind the evidence. Papers had fallen to the ground in a graceful manner as we had lied upon the coldness of the desk, and there was an undeniable claw mark swirling from the nape of his neck, going down to right above his tailbone. It was growing redder each second as I stared at my glorious handiwork.
My head spun in utter disbelief to the crime we had rightfully committed. Staring into eachother's eyes, panting for breath as it was still shallow, knowing that the instincts we had acted upon were wrong. Perverse, risqué, illegal, in more ways than just one.
For one, the man I had grown to love, was at least ten years my senior. Two, I was still considered young and inexperience, just beginning to dip my toes into the vast ocean of relationships. And third, he was my teacher. My teacher.
He moved closer into me once again, a worried expression drawn unevenly on his usually carefree face. He looked me in the eye, stern but soft, if at all possible, making me slightly apprehensive as he spoke all too cleary, "This is wrong."
I pulled him closer, our bodies swaying in perfect unison. I stretch my legs, standing on my toes to gain ability to speak in his ear. I purred seductively on the side of his head, feeling like a heavily-painted harlequin girl, comforting him, "No one will ever know. It's just me and you. Don't worry. No one will ever find out. Trust me." Seeming to believe me, he gently placed another kiss upon my blushing lips. He parted slowly while reaching for his forgotten shirt. Oh how I loathed for him to keep it off his perfect body.
Was it really my fault who I had fallen in love with? How could I be blamed for loving such perfection?