Harper is now an inch away.
My eyes close without me willing them to do so.
Our lips meet.
The world around me seems to get sharper, as though someone upgraded it to ultra-high definition.
It’s official.
This is the most delicious kiss of my life.
As Harper’s lithe fingers stroke my face, spreading little jolts of electricity, a nagging doubt appears somewhere in my brain.
As our tongues start dancing, the doubt grows, and I can finally pinpoint the issue.
Something about this is vaguely familiar.
My earlier arousal seems so timid in comparison to what I feel now. This to regular horniness is like Mozart’s concerto is to the ice-cream truck jingle.
His palms are now on my back, causing it to arch in a yoga-like pose as the warm energy spreads along my spine.
What’s happening to
