Her breath quickens as his hands slip beneath her shirt, and she lets her hunger for him slip a little, deepening the kiss. (This is what she wants. This taste, this feel of him against her lips, to wash away the other not-quite-right memory.)
When she pulls away again, there's a tiny smile on her lips and her hands tug at his shirt.
"You were quite the punk. A young bull," she whispers in Portuguese. "Said I could never wear you out."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2010-02-16 12:32 am (UTC)When she pulls away again, there's a tiny smile on her lips and her hands tug at his shirt.
"You were quite the punk. A young bull," she whispers in Portuguese. "Said I could never wear you out."