Kissing

My nails dug into the skin above his paraspinal muscles. His hand responded in kind, pulling me tighter to him. How I longed to do this horizontally. We were on a dancefloor. Again. Sweating against each other, our legs in between eachother’s. My skirt riding high on my thighs. Our torsos move apart, legs still intertwined, he dips me, showing off his strength. He faces me the entire time this time. I don’t shy away from eye contact. Our mouths are together, tongues. Not for long. Who kissed who? He is so tall and has to come down to meet me so no one. Or both of us. I slide my tongue against his salty neck and bite down. I turn my back to him and his hands grab my hips again eagerly, like so many times before, but this is different. When I slide my hand back around his neck and rest my head on his chest and look up, his mouth is there on mine again as though we’ve been doing this all along. The clock is nearing 0200, and I don’t want this to stop, this thing that seems to only happen on these dark floors with loud music. We continue grabbing each other, pulling tighter, letting go, hands moving, grabbing again. He pulls me the tightest when I grab his belt along his back, or grab his back under his shirt. He threatens to pull off my shirt while I unbutton his to his undershirt. I would let him.