In the Eye of the Storm

14. Silent Lips

Good God...! His lips were soft, oh so soft, yet somehow incredibly hard and demanding. They were exactly as I remembered from his last kiss!

Strange, considering you always thought that you hallucinated that one, right?

Well, apparently I was pretty good at hallucinating realistically! Bloody hell!

His mouth was voracious. It claimed mine in a race of burning need, sending shiver after shiver down my back – but shivers weren't strong enough for this! A shock followed in their wake, paralysing me, making me go limp in his arms. Arms that were drawing me closer towards him, holding me against his rock-hard body. My knees gave way, and spots danced in front of my eyes like sparkling snowflakes.

Blimey! Was I hallucinating again?

No, you idiot! You're not drunk this time!

Wasn't I? I felt drunk. Drunk with a delicious heat that filled my body from tip to toe, from lips to hairclips. I wanted more of it! More of him! Desperately! But how? How?

A strong, familiar hand slipped up behind my back, gripping my neck, holding it in place. His lips pressed harder against mine, forcing them open, and he plunged into my mouth with his...

Oh...

Oh God... so that's how!

His tongue was like a spear of desire, my mouth a gaping wound that wanted me to die from bliss. Around the clashing of our mouths, a little moan escaped me. His tongue stroked, caressed, kept in constant motion, never ceasing the attack on me. Meanwhile, his lips kept busy, holding me prisoner with a persistent, intoxicating rhythm that sent waves of delicious heat through my body.

How long did it go on?

Minutes?

Hours?

Years?

I didn't know, and I couldn't have cared less! I was in a daze. I felt like Tantalus must have felt when he pinched Ambrosia from the table of the gods to see what the heavenly drink might taste like. I couldn't do or say anything, until finally, out of the steaming hot fog of my mind, slowly a thought appeared:

What... what the heck is he doing?

I wasn't sure. It seemed, technically, as though he was kissing me, but... that couldn't happen in reality, could it? In drink-induced fantasies in which he and I temporarily lost our minds and forgot we hated each other's guts, maybe, but not in real life, for God's sake! That was impossible!

Well, judging by the way he's massaging your quail-pipe at the moment, it is very, very possible!

Oh my God! He really was! He really was kissing me!

Yes, you silly tart! So you had better do something about it, and right speedily!

Of course! I had to! I was a thingummy, after all. A... what was it called again? With Mr Ambrose's lips devouring mine it seemed rather hard to remember...

Feminist! You're a feminist!

Right! I was a feminist, and I couldn't just let random men kiss me! No, I couldn't. No matter how nice it felt to have his hands exploring my...

My inner feminist screeched out in protest. Do something! Now!

Right. So... what to do?

Sliding my arms up, I pushed against Mr Ambrose's chest. It had no effect whatsoever. I pushed harder. Still, nothing happened. Except that is, for his tongue stroking over mine again, sending another wave of delirious heat through my body, making me shiver with...