She turns, presumably to exclaim about the scene that she just witnessed, but instead he puts both hands on either side of her face and kisses her again. Kisses her longer than he even meant to. Ignoring the fear he can’t quite keep completely at bay. This woman is getting to him and he knows it. The feel of her hands on his chest, the smell of her shampoo as her hair blows around them, the taste of her mouth; all of them stain his senses with beauty and need.
When he finally pulls away, she says, “What was that for?”
She’s smiling, glowing. All that crap you see in movies and think is just that- crap- until you see it yourself.
“It’s getting to be a bad habit of mine, this kissing you. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Bad habits are hard to break,” she smiles that coy smile of hers again. It’s coy, that’s true, but it’s also real. Genuine. She’s not playing a game with him. He knows it, most of the time anyway. It’s a shyness in her. A gentleness.
To hell with it, he thinks, and puts his arms around her waist, draws her up against him. As she weaves her hands together at the nape of his neck, he leans in until their lips are barely touching.
“I think this is one bad habit I can live with.”
And he kisses her smiling lips once again.