You're slow dancing in his villa. Your face is buried in the crook of his neck, and his skin is soft, warm, and smells of a mixture between his cologne and your perfume. It's citric and musky. One of your hands is splayed between his shoulder blades. He has enveloped your other hand into his, and kept it pressed against his chest right where his heart is. His other hand is now caressing the back of your head in small delicate circular motions, and his thumb occasionally slides down your neck ever so gently. His head is leaning against yours. He can smell your strawberry shampoo, and that makes him smile. He plants a kiss on top of your head. A long one. And you hear him inhale and sigh.

                  You're not really dancing, but rather rocking into each other, back and forth, left and right, right and left. He talks to you in a whisper and you see his jaw moving and a vein in his neck pulsating while his voice seeps into your ear. His baritone voice relaxes you to the point your legs are going to give in any minute. He gives you that comforting feeling as when you get in bed and the sheets are clean, or when you wrap yourself in a warm towel after a bath. His voice cradles you as much as his arms. His mouth moves from the top of your head to your temple. He doesn't kiss you, but brushes his bottom lip along your temple, up and down, and up again. His lip is not wet, so you can feel it raw on your skin. Now his mouth is on your forehead, where his lips flutter like butterfly wings all the way to your eyelid. It tickles, but it's delicious. You move your head a little so your face is at his entire disposal to be showered with kisses. He presses his forehead against yours, and bats his eyelashes against your eyes. You giggle at the sensation. It's sweet and y at the same time. Though his face is blurry because it's so close to you, you can still see him smile as he tickles your eyelids with his long, curled up eyelashes. Now he's pecking the tip of your nose, your cheeks, the side of your mouth. His skin is glowing, and feels like silk against yours. His mouth is so close.

               When he kisses the corner of your mouth you wrap your arms around his neck and he cups your face with his big hands. He looks into your eyes for what seems like the longest time. They're coffee black, and he smells like coffee too. He tilts his head, so slowly it feels like slow motion. And then his lips are on yours. At first he just presses them against your lips, maybe waiting for a signal to go on. When he hears your moan in the back of your throat, he parts your lips with the tip of his tongue. It's so warm. When his tongue is inside your mouth, he starts yours with small laps, as if your tongue tasted like his favorite wine. He goes "mmmmmmmmmm" in satisfaction, and pushes your body closer against him till there's no gap between you. The buckle of his belt is denting your stomach. Now he's the roof of your mouth as you card your fingers through his silken hair. He your lower lip until it's red and swollen. You break the kiss, chests heaving up and down, and stare at each other for a split second. That's until he locks his gaze on your lips and just dives in for your mouth. He engulfs your lips in his mouth; he wets the small bridge of skin between your nose and your upper lip, and the tip of his nose is pressed so hard against your cheek you actually toy for a moment with the idea of it leaving a bruise. He on your lips in a way that's both torturously slow and frighteningly deep.

                It's scary how you've managed to live your life without his kisses. All those other times when you kissed someone, now they only look like preparations for this moment. Now you know your lips have made it home. His mouth will be your shelter, the sounds coming from him as he kisses you will be the lullaby that puts you to sleep every night; his tongue will always be the key to this one place which is yours, and his, and it's right where your teeth collide, your senses cave into each other's presence, and shut off the entire world outside, and where it's the flesh of your lips merging into his in a dance of lust, surrender, trust and love. Your mouth and his, tongues interlocked, teeth grazing teeth, lips bruising lips, in one kiss which is like the first kiss ever in the history of humanity. Right this moment all that matters is his hands squeezing your body against his, the way his hair makes your skin tingle when it slightly caresses it, and the way he tastes: the condensation of all the kisses ever given and all the kisses yet to come; like a ball of fire shot into your mouth and burning it down to ashes only to bring you back to life with another of his tongue on your lips. Like an army of glass, shattering into your mouth, and bleeding you almost to death, only to be saved by the healing warmth of his lips. This kiss means life, and it also means death, because all your memories of other kisses, other mouths, other noses dipping the hollow of your cheek, all of them have been slain, washed away, buried in the darkest bottom of the darkest sea the exact moment his flesh met yours. There's only him, and the way he rubs your cheeks with his thumbs while he smiles at you, as he breaks the kiss, and stares so deeply into your eyes you can see your own panting reflection in them.

"Kiss me again," you hear yourself say, "and again, and again, and again..."

"Always."