The bottle of water falls from her fingers, instantly forgotten. His mouth tastes like fire, sweet and devastating. He's covering her, his hands roaming on her hips and back, hers winding around his neck, fingers weaving in his already tousled hair, dragging him down to her.

The sweet perpetual ache in her chest radiates out, a month's worth -- no, a year's worth of longing and hunger and passion singing in her blood. She kisses him back, letting him feel that in her touch, her knee rising along the outside of his thigh, a breathless moan in the back of her throat. The rest of the world could go up in flames today, she doesn't care. She's right where she wants to be.