❛ 𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ❜ ━ miguel o'hara

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲

He kisses me, and it feels like my world has been cracked open.

My breath shudders. I freeze in place.
Holy shit.

His kiss is like biting into cotton candy, melting into your tastebuds as soon as it touches the warmth of your mouth.
I am melting and floating simultaneously. Weightless in water.

Miguel's gloved hand glides up from the nape of my neck to the back of my head. His fingers lace through my dark curls. His other hand rests on the small of my back, pulling me closer to him.
His touch is electrifying, prickling my skin with goosebumps. He's so close, he's so close and I can't feel my legs anymore.

His lips are softer than anything I've ever known, softer than any 'home', any blanket.
He tastes like the horchata my mother used to make, and the cinnamon flavor makes my head spin.
It's sweet, so effortlessly sweet.

I am pulled by a force I cannot name. I intensify our kiss, my hands gingerly sliding up to his firm biceps. I never want to leave.

In this brief moment, time stops completely. I can't breathe, can't think. I can't feel my body or the slight chill that runs through me because all I feel is Miguel, everywhere, filling my entire being and he is pulled from me suddenly.

Breathing and not breathing and hearts beating between us and he's close, so close, and it's only us in this world. Miguel's hand still holds my head, and God, it takes everything in me not to melt completely beneath his touch. His eyes meet mine.
He gazes down at me, and there is something unfamiliar in those dark eyes that I cannot recognize or name.

Miguel takes in the sight of me as if there's no other place he would rather be, no woman he would rather be with.

My hands slide down from his muscular biceps and fall to my side. I blink a few times.

"I don't— I—"
I believe I stutter this meager sentence.

He nods at me. He nods because there is nothing he can tell me that I can't already see in those red eyes.

'The eyes are the windows to the soul.'
Isn't that the saying?

They are. They are and I want nothing more than to get lost in his.

I have no clue what to say, how to respond.
I nod back at him. My lips part, and I'm speechless for a moment before I string together a sentence, an escape.

"I need to get to bed." I choke out.

My body carries me away from Miguel, away from this seemingly glowing platform, away from this heavenly moment, and before I know it, I am sinking into the mattress of my bed.

I stare up at the tall ceiling for what feels like forever.
It's not that I haven't processed what just happened, or that I'm in total disbelief— I'm simply conflicted.

My romantic, (and sexual), history isn't what others would call brief.

I'm not alluding to the fact that I'm a total slut or anything— because I'm not. I am, however, experienced. I've drowned in the phenomenon of lust and longing, lost myself under the touch of countless people.
To put it lightly, I've kissed a fair amount of men. That's what frightens me.
I've done this time and time again, yet it felt like the very first time.

Call me cliche, but I've never felt anything like this before.

It's horrifying.
It feels like there is an immense pressure on my heart and lungs, like an invisible force is gnawing away at my insides. I desperately want to push it away, to get this feeling out of me.