*Another excerpt from a story*

"Don't you want to kiss me?" She asks.

I say yes, and she says yes. She touches my waist with one of her hands and I touch her face with mine, that spot where the sunlight landed on the day I really saw her.

We don't kiss right away. Instead, there's a moment when we just look at each other, the moment where, if this were a movie, the music would start. This could be the scene everyone wishes for. The moment where the thing that you wish for becomes the thing you get.

When we tip our faces to the sides, we do it in the perfect movie way; no awkward repositionings, no pressed noses. I swear: I can hear the music swelling.

But then.

Our lips touch. The imaginary music goes quiet. The room is only a room and we are miracles. Her mouth is warm and human and soft, her hand presses hard and insisting against my back, her breasts pressed against mine. My hand grazes the delicate line of her jaw; there's the whisper oh her hair against my fingers as we kiss harder.