Sunday Snog #156

Harley adored Veronica, it was easy enough for her to see that. But she was not used to being adored. It was not that Max had not adored her, but it was as it was in all relationships as far as she knew…one person loved the other person more. She knew that she loved Max more, but she also knew that he loved her as much as he could have loved her or anyone.
But with Harley, she was the one who was loved more. She knew it the first time he kissed her. He had revered her lips, right in the middle of one of Gwennie’s performances.
Veronica was not sure if she had not wanted to be in another relationship. She was afraid that she would change things for Gwennie if she a bad relationship with Max, but she knew that that was not entirely it.
“Mom, I just want you to be happy, I want you to be as happy as I am with Nic with someone.” Gwennie had said hugging her, beaming about love.
It made Veronica so happy that she had such a beautiful and loving daughter, and it made her realize that she and Max had done something wonderful.
Now was her time.
Harley was so new to her, she had forgotten what the buzz was like when you first met someone. The just being close to him, and even though they had never had sex, the complete consumption that took place. The warmth of his skin was seductive, the way that he looked at her that made her shiver with excitement and anticipation. Learning things about him that she did not immediately suspect, like there was a bit of an artist in him and that he loved to take pictures.
He took a picture of her with his phone when they were out for dinner, and the joy on her face was something she had not seen in such a long time that she knew that he was special.
That he was resurrecting her.
She really had been dead in the time between him and Max.
So she invited him to go to the ballet, where she knew that Max would be, but she did not care. It was okay, because she was not going to hide that she was trying to move on with her life and she was honest with Harley.
“I will always love Max, but I don’t feel about him the way that I could feel about you now,” she said hoping to sober him because he was looking at her in her new dress like she wasn’t real.
She was wearing a dress that he said that he saw in a vintage shop that had reminded him of her.
“This dress reminded me of you. Looked like something you would wear and it looks like it would fit you like a glove.”
At that point, Veronica knew she was not wrong about him, because this was a dress that she had put on consignment. She did not tell him because she did not want to take the fantasy away.
When his hands caressed the sequins on her dress, he moved his lips over hers the same way that he caressed her hips. Like worship, like she was something very precious and he wanted to savor her. He kissed her when they were out of the sight of others, which she loved because she knew he was not showing off for Max. He kissed her with his mouth and his hands, and she really felt like she saw stars when they pulled apart.
They looked at each other and Veronica grinned first, and he grinned back at her even harder. He squeezed her hand and they went back to their seats. It was the first time that Veronica was distracted watching a ballet performance. She was not recalling the steps of the dance in her head, but Harley kissing her during the intermission on the steps.

You can get more snogs here.


kiss via wikimedia


Wicked Wednesday #129 — Looking Back

Severine felt happy as soon as she was in Paris. She actually loved that people did not think Montparnasse was hip anymore. All the tourist guides that she ended up inevitably reading, said Montparnasse was dead and that it only had a hideous tower.
Montparnasse was her home, she loved it. She walked with her carry-on down the slick streets, basking in the happiness of being home. She turned back toward Port Royal station.
Looking back, she should have known that there was something with Rafe. R, as she called him affectionately with a lovely and very French roll of her ‘r’.’ Eleanora wanted to know his actual name, but what woman did not love having their very own Mr. Big?
Rafe was big from the time she met him. And everything that happened ever since was even bigger. When he called her the last time from New York, and said that he loved her, she felt finally. Because if he did not love her, then what exactly had she been doing all this time with him?
He said he wanted to see her soon, and she was flying into New York for the Day of the Dead. So she joined him for a Day of the Dead party. When he saw her, her face was in complete Calaveras makeup, with extra black shadow to make her look thin as the bones painted on her. He touched her waist, pulled her close to him. They canoodled, and she filled with warmth.
He buried his face in her hair, and whispered.
“You’re so beautiful, so very beautiful.”
She looked up at him.
“Even with a death mask?”
He grinned, looking down at her looking the Grim Reaper himself, and wolfish. Rafe meant wolf after all, and he was her wolf. She had read a novel once translated into French called Le Loup et la Colombe by a popular American romance author. It was a very passionate and sexual romance…she wanted Rafe to be her loup, and to be his colombe forever.
They circled each other the entire night, she never said a word to him about him saying that he loved her. She knew he would not, but after she went on and on about his declaration with Eleanora, she wanted the romantic element to be romantic, to be drummed up.
And it was, even at a party that celebrated death. Because after all human beings created death. If they created life, they also created death inadvertently.
They ended up later, much later making love in the house where the party was being held, where there were ofrendas all over the house and things inviting dead in such a loving matter, making love. Making love in a room where in the mirror, she could see Rafe taking her in his arms. Kissing her and entering her in Calaveras makeup, so it looked like death was taking her like on the cover of an old pulp fiction novel.
She had a flight the next day, and she was happy to have some time to look at Rafe without a mask of death in the morning. Even though their rendezvous was dying slowly.
Asleep, and still, he was more than beautiful. His breath was even, as he slept untroubled sleep. She cherished this because it was rare that she spent time alone with him, his scent warm. When he woke up, his wolfish grin threatened to eat her alive and she wanted to be devoured.
It was not perfect, it was never going to be perfect between them, she thought hours later when he was kissing her like the way that soldier kissed that nurse in iconic style in Times Square after the war. That was the thing. She was inaccessible to him, in a different way than he was inaccessible to her. But there was something there and looking back on it, she would rather have a part of him than nothing at all.
And with that thought, she sat down at her favorite cafe, with her carry-on and her favorite waiter bought her a grande cafe because he knew that was what she wanted. She smiled at him, and he pushed a chocolate into her hand like he always did. He was so kind to her after her long journeys, and she appreciated that as she sipped her coffee and lit a cigarette.
Paris was the most beautiful place to reflect and dream.

More Wicked Wednesday here:


parisian cafe by f dot leonora


Sunday Snog #155

Harley told her that he had noticed her all along. Even when she did not notice him, the way he described it to her. He did not sound like a stalker, but it was clear that he had noticed her for quite some time.
“I was at the gala the other night and I saw you, you looked amazing,” he began.
Veronica remembered seeing Harley there, and he had looked dashing. His company partially sponsored the gala, so they had met before and he was always the epitome of gracious to her.
“You looked so amazing,” he continued. “I wanted to finally say something to you, Veronica, but I saw you kissing Max and I knew there was no place for me.”
When he said that to her, she remembered the night that she had kissed Max. The last time that there was that kind of candy-coated sparkle between them. She was embarrassed because she did not think that anyone had seen them.
“Don’t worry you were not making a scene, only someone who had been looking at you as hard as I was that night would have noticed. Someone who looked at you with that much longing. You know, I always wanted to say something to you. I was always eyeing you. But your heart was never clear, until recently. I know what it is like. I was once in love with a woman like that, and the only way to resurrect your heart is to meet someone who makes you want that again. Not in the same way mind you, but that…that je ne sais quoi. You are that certain je ne sais quoi for me, now seemed like the time to tell you.”
Veronica knew exactly what he meant.
It had been awhile since she had let Max out of her life. He could never be completely out, because they had Gwennie to share. But for her to be with him was not something that she desired anymore. It was weeks of soul searching, and going to bed at night curled up in a ball. The desire to have his body, to let him make everything better with his body.
But this time his body would not help, she did not want it to help at least this time.
She had not abandoned the hope of Max for decades in her life, being without him was something she thought she was never going to be able to do. Or at least it was not something that she thought about.
Without him was surprisingly more seamless than she had expected. Her life was amazingly full, and she was not even thinking about love. Love she figured, was going to have been something that she had had and would treasure what it had been as an experience.

Harley had given her his card, inside of her hand it felt like a small fire that wanted to be ignited as she closed her fist about it.

You can get more snogs here.


flame via wikimedia


Kink of the Week, Nov 1-15: Piercings and Being Pierced

My mother said I could not get my ears pierced until I was sixteen. Like any prohibition, I was obsessed with the idea. I had clip-on earrings, though clip-ons were never as pretty as their pierced counterparts, but I looked hard to find the really pretty ones. But they always fall off, and I was probably the only girl who did not have pierced ears in school. I was always was prepared to launch into explaining why my ears were not pierced for inquiring classmates.
Sixteen arrived, and surprise, surprise–I did not elect to have my ears pierced. I decided that I did not want to have any holes I was not born with. As an adult it is less of an issue that I am not pierced, except when my boss gave me extremely beautiful green earrings for Christmas only to discover my ears were not pierced. I exchanged them and got a gorgeous black sweater in their place, so all was well. It was amusing.
Having pierced ears as a woman is a norm, at least one being expected and more piercings personal preference. Men with piercings was an aberration when I was growing up, but which ear he had pierced was indicative of his sexuality which I find not to be the case any more. Nose piercing is not as much of an aberration as it used to be, but it is not necessarily expected. I used to wear a nose ring when I was sixteen–a clip-on one–so people actually thought my nose was pierced.
I do think about other body piercings sometimes, like what does it feel like to have your nipple pierced? Your labia, your penis? Do you ever just want to idly pull at the jewelry like you would twist a ring for comfort, or because you are nervous? What does it feel like? Do you forget that it is there? Do you fear snagging it like I did my nose ring which was always very painful? Are they necessary jewels that you feel naked if you are not wearing, the same way I feel naked if I leave the house without perfume?
Piercing is a choice, I think it is lovely if you choose it and lovely if you do not. I choose not, and it is not something I really think about. I feel if I wanted to do it I would have, like anything else I have a burning desire to do. I get it done.

Kink of the Week

piercings via


Happy Chemical [se]Xy Day!

I have been published before, but there is no greater feeling. A creation of yours has been chosen for everyone to see, there is nothing more beautiful for an artist of any kind.
The beauty that came into my life, when beloved and treasured friend Oleander Plume asked me to be a part of her Chemical [se]X anthology. Invite only, the red rope raised–I was ushered into this amazing book! I saw the other writers who were writing for it as well, and my jaw dropped. Such gorgeous writers and me, wow! I went to Paris, hoping to find inspiration for the story, and the finished piece is one of my rare current projects that does not include Paris! But there is chocolate! The finished piece is the most accomplished and longest piece of fiction I have written, so personally a triumph.
But everything that has followed since…like I said most of these lovely authors alongside me are friends, or I have come to adore them as such. It has just been a beautiful process, with all of us just being supportive and equally excited by every phase of it.
And Oleander, my goodness. Oleander. I remember reading “Chemical [se]X” when she first posted it on her blog, and thinking this prolific woman comes up with the most amazing ideas! Aphrodisiacal chocolate?! When she expanded the idea to become an anthology…I mean what a beautiful mind!
Chemical [se]X really has been a labor of love–and chocolate! It is available for sale today, and I invite you to taste the attraction. All of the stories here are mouthwatering like your favorite bonbon. Why let me give you a sample!

This is from my Chocolate Covered story:

Rupert nodded, and she ordered the food online. When she finished, typing with a flourish, she noticed that he looked at her longer than he usually did.

“Yes, I am hungry…” he said, and put his hand on her shoulder, his hand lingering, his fingers that she had admired splayed a bit. “You look like a chocolate bonbon, like on the cover of the box…” He went to pick up the box, but then his hand dug more into her shoulder. “You feel like an Acme bonbon tastes, like chocolatey silk. Kind of like that other company says their chocolates taste, and they come close, but ours really feel like silk. You feel like that.”

Lotte tried to stand up again, but his hand did not move from her shoulder. It was not that he was trying to force her down, but more like he was not able to keep his hands off of her. She put her hand over his.

“Rupert,” she picked up the box of chocolates from the counter. “You ate chocolates from the new line… the new sexy line…”

He stared at her as if absorbing what she was saying, his hand digging deeper into her shoulder.

“You put them out on the counter? You wanted me to want to fuck you?”

Lotte felt a rush of heat. She wished she was that devious. Yes, she did want him to fuck her, she realized, but not like this.

Chemical [se]X is available today on Amazon in the US and the UK, so you do not have to wait a minute longer! Also you can visit our blog and Tumblr, and follow our Twitter.

Make it a Chemical [se]Xy today!


Wicked Wednesday #128 — My Way

Polly looked incongruous in a top hat and a qipao, but still elegant belting out Frank Sinatra’s “My Way” at karaoke.
Oscar could not keep his eyes off of her. They had been to several parties in Shanghai because they were there for an art fair which meant a lot of work, but just as much partying. He was surprised to see her like this, he had been in Shanghai with her before but she was not so light of heart like she was now.
He had dared her to go up there since she was sitting with him, saying she liked Sinatra so much.
“Here,” he said taking off his hat and handing it to her. “Go on up there.”
Polly shrugged her slender shoulders.
“Come on ba-Polly,” He lost himself for a moment, wanted to call her terms of endearment that he had not earned yet. “Don’t be chicken.”
Polly stared at him, with a revisit of the former dark fire she used to greet him with in her eyes.
“I am not a chicken. I once took the subway in New York dressed as a Little Bo-Keep, and it was not Halloween.”
She smiled at him.
“Give me your hat,” she purred, and he did relishing the soft expression on her face again.
Now he sat watching her and no one could keep their eyes off of her, because she was so lovely and ultra-feminine even with his hat.
“And did it my way!” she sang with her arms extended, and pulling the top hat over her eye.
She sashayed over to the table, and put his hat back on top of his head. Oscar was silent, his hands reached up to adjust it on his head. Before he knew it, he pulled her onto his lap and hugged her.
She had dangled her flowery fruit scent over him long enough. He enjoyed the softness of her body, which was not resisting him holding her so close.
It was like when she fell asleep on him in the car to the airport. There was a degree of closeness that they now experienced simply from that.
But tonight, pulling her onto his lap was not as innocent as it been other nights. He was semi-hard, and growing harder by the minute. Anxious what Polly would think, he tried to shift her on his lap, but she settled on him.
“You never told me, you never told me…” she whispered, caressing his face.
Oscar looked in her eyes and when she turned her her head, he kissed her neck. She pushed her glossy hair to the side to let him kiss on her neck all the more.
She pressed more into the nook of him beneath her bottom, which he began to caress and she shifted on his lap. He knew if he touched her she would be wet, but he was not going to do that.
“I always wanted you Polly, I always did but you did not like me until we came to Shanghai this time. Even the last time we were here, you never went anywhere with me.”
Placing her hands firm on his thighs, she leaned back. Without looking at him, she replied,
“I always wanted you, but I am always afraid of what I want.”
“I feel like I do not even know you. And you never told me why you were dressed as Little Bo Peep?
“Like in the O. Henry story “But that is one of the tales they brought behind them.” But I do have a picture.
She slid alongside him, his body moved with hers.
She scrolled on her cell phone, and showed him the picture of her lovely legs all in white.
He looked at her, and thought he never knew a purer innocence than Polly and this moment with her.

More Wicked Wednesday this way:


photo by f dot leonora


Sunday Snog #154

He missed her.
Since the night that he was in the car with V, and she had not let him upstairs he missed her. Maybe because he had not believed her at first. There were so many times that she said no and she meant yes. Teasing him, playing with him. But the moment he sensed she was not teasing he froze.
If she did not want him, it was his own fault anyway.
He saw Gwendolyn and Nich, as V probably saw them. They were a young couple in love. Everything about them, the way they looked at each other during rehearsal. The way they were when they were not in rehearsal. When Gwendolyn finally told them over dinner that they were dating, it was really not necessary for them to say so. Max tried to make eyes with V, but she was not looking at him. It was over the course of dinner that instead of being happy for his daughter, he was saddened that he was not able to make contact with her mother.
V would not look at him, and he never imagined that he would feel this kind of loss of her.
When they were a young couple, they broke up a lot. Married they divorced, but stayed connected not just because of Gwendolyn. But because they were always connected.
Even before they spoke to each other for the first time.
But at that dinner table, she never looked at him. She spoke very few words, and laughed when everyone else was laughing.
He wanted to touch her hand at the table, but he was afraid to touch her. Afraid how she would respond to him touching her. Looking at V now, was like looking at a ghost. He had kissed her when he saw her, at the beginning of the night. But he was not going to kiss her goodnight.
V was not his anymore.

You can get more snogs here.


ghost via google images


A Break From Fiction, But Still a Prompt!

The truth of the matter is this post is a challenge.
I had looked at my blog lately and kept thinking, insert non-fiction post here–but nothing came. I wanted to be witty about the reading that I did for the Between the Covers, and the beautiful corset that I won there. I have only ever read my stories in public twice. Both times happened this year: once in Bristol at Eroticon and Between the Covers in the Bronx. The fact that they were both cities that started with the letter B, and that both stories had chocolate in them seemed like a slam dunk post wise!
But I did not write it.
I went to Paris, and if you have ever read my non-fiction posts you know I am a committed Francophile. I had every intention of writing a post about it…but somehow I never got around to doing it…I’ve written about my obsession with gadgets, yet did not even mention that I got a new iPad.
I respond well to challenges, to prompts to be more specific. I faithfully write entries for Wicked Wednesday, Sunday Snog and A Darker Flame. They are things that have to be done by a certain time. I am never tardy, I always eek my entry in right before it is due. I am doing NaNoWriMo this month, I have no trepidation about it, because I have won it before. If there is a deadline, I will meet it.
Charlie from Sex Blog of Sorts, who seems to be the only person who has wrangled me to do all of her contests, got me again! She wanted non-fiction posts and tagged me so I am doing it. A prompt, a deadline–I am up for it!
Maybe this will inspire me to make sure that I do one non-fiction post a week, I don’t know. I feel like writing–particularly on a blog–should be a labor of love. This is mine, this represents me and what an injustice it would be for me not to give genuine me. To go through the motions with a post that is not from my heart.
That being said, as a writer, I have writer friends who I wish that I was doing the things they do. That I was full of the innovation they have, and the stamina. I can proudly say I am getting there. I posted today on Twitter from Brain Pickings, Neil Gaiman’s rules for writing. I cannot agree with him more. I have never read one of his books, but I can understand why people read him if that is the discipline that he is following. All the time I have been a writer, if you asked me I would tell you that I was a writer even before telling you I was an editor. Well I was a writer long before I was an editor! Yet I was always happy to beat myself up about all kinds of things deterring from getting done what I said I would not be able to live if I wasn’t doing it.
In the past few months, I have written a great deal more than I have in the past. I am a ton more disciplined, and my writing style has improved in ways I cannot even have imagined. Writing more improves your ability to do it, amazing! You will be able to see an example of this in the upcoming Chemical [se]X anthology edited by my friend, Oleander Plume. Again it was a prompt, she asked me to do it. So I did write a story, called Chocolate Covered.
It is amazing to me that the drive to write can come so strongly from outside sources, I am working on strengthening it from the inside.
Okay, I am going to make the deadline! I need to return to NaNo! The NaNo challenge is going very well, and then a little later I have a snog to give you for tomorrow…well a Sunday Snog!

typewriter via life magazine


Wicked Wednesday #127 — Fairy Tales

Eleanora was not sure why it weighed so heavily on her mind now. It was not usually her style to be so concerned with the lives of others, even her friends. Well to be honest, she did not have a lot of friends, but she included Severine among them since she had moved to Paris with her ex. That fairy tale was over before it began, but she was lucky. She was always lucky.
But right now she was thinking about Severine who she had had brunch with before her friend Sherilyn had moved to Paris. Severine was so much happier than she had ever been holding her smartphone.
Her happiness was on the large screen of the phone. The words that she had wanted to hear, like the Beatles’ song lyrics, “Say the words you want to hear, I’m in love with you.”
The man that she had been on and off with for years, had finally texted her that he loved her. Severine was filled with joy as she turned the face of her smartphone to Eleanora and showed her. She flashed the phone almost like it was a diamond.
“R texted this to me the other day. He was drinking, but that is when people really tell the truth in my experience. When they are drunk and their defenses are down. But,”
She looked down at the grande café in front of her. They were sitting on the sidewalk in front of Severine’s favorite cafe in Paris, which honestly was not as nice as some that Eleanora had been to. It had its charms though, and she had spent a lot of time with her there dreaming away the afternoon.
She had heard a lot of stories about R–R for Rhett, for Roger? Robert? Rufus? Severine kept mum about it, because even though he was not married he was involved with another woman.
“I know it is wrong, but I did not know and we had been together in the way we were for a long time. I thought that we could have been something, but I know it is hard to have a relationship with me. I am always going away on a flight. But I loved him, I fell in love with him. Honestly, I fell in love with him more after he told me that he was with someone else. There were no more secrets.”
“Well, because he was being honest with you finally.”
Severine looked away from her coffee and onto the sidewalk where there was an elegant older woman pulling a suitcase into an apartment. There was an equally elegant and debonair older man who was following her to the door, before he kissed her. He twirled her, and kissed her like their lives depended on it. She abandoned the suitcase to completely embrace him, her arms cradling his head. They pressed their faces together when their lips parted, their eyes fixed on each other. Eleanora could see the longing in Severine’s face, or more the longing for the fairy tale to come true.The her and R happily ever after…
“I have a flight tomorrow heading to New York, and I told him and he says that he wants me. That…well you can imagine the things he said to me…” She took a slow sip of her coffee.
Eleanora could absolutely imagine every word he had said to Severine. Fairy tales were rarely told with new words. The same words with some variations in their twists, but ultimately ending the same way with the happily ever after. The happily ever after in her experience, had lost her her job as a flight attendant alongside Severine.
But she had been so in love with Carter, and that was her first mistake because she had always avoided love because it usually did not amount to much. She knew he was a bit of a player, and she knew he was married so she figured that she would not get that connected because she knew she could not.
But she did, the first time he kissed her she was in love. All the stereotypical love things happened to her, and surrounded her like ghosts that she was able to coexist with. His love was like a ghost, that she called Carter.
She saw the ghosts gather around Severine, standing amidst all the Venetian masks in her apartment where she had been so generous with them for Halloween.
Eleanora looked down at a text that she was sent from Severine who was now in New York. Her face was painted with Calaveras makeup for Day of the Dead celebrations. She texted she was with R, who was also painted with Calaveras but was not quite as pretty as Severine. Severine, who even with bones on her face albeit with roses, she looked more beautiful and elegant than most women who painted their faces regularly.
That beauty and elegance was love, which was the most important makeup for any woman. In the photo she texted, their mutual skeletal smiles were lovely, and maybe indicative of the fairy tale coming true at last.
Love and all of its fixings eluded her now as she looked down at her grande cafe. When Eleanora looked up, she saw that same elegant, older woman pulling her suitcase out of the apartment building. Again abandoning it, and kissing her man like he was the only thing in the world, and in their world he was her only thing. They kissed for the longest time, and then pressed their faces together after. She got into a Parisian taxi, and she looked at him for the longest time her face pressed to the window before she headed off with the driver to her destination. Eleanora picked up her cup, and inhaled the lovely coffee aroma.
She got a text then from Severine, that started:
About fairy tales they…
She picked up her phone, and saw the quick spiral that meant her phone had died.
As hardened as Eleanora was, she hoped that R had made Severine’s fairy tale come true. Even though she sensed in her heart that he was a dark knight…

More Wicked Wednesday here:


calaveras via google images


Sunday Snog #153

Veronica looked down at her dress from the night before. Her fingers moved over it slowly, loving the feeling of the lace. The sensual feel of the lace made her think of the feeling of Max’s kiss, and she crumbled emotionally.
It had been hard last night to resist him. To not let him into the apartment. That was how it usually ended. She used to feel that if he still wanted her, that there was still a chance. There were couples who remarried. Max had always been volatile and hard to handle, that was what she loved about him.
As a dancer, he challenged the teachers and because he was so good, he got away with it. He had raw talent, and she was terrified when she had to partner with him for the first time.
Even though he was a rebel, he practiced hard and knew all of the moves, but he had a desire to add his own choreography.
He was holding her close once during their practice, and she looked up at him.
“That was not the part of the…”
“I just wanted to try something. Are you okay with that?”
Veronica nodded, she tried a lot of things with him and she always credited Max for making a better dancer out of her.
Her first gala with him as her partner, she was nothing like Gwennie had been last night. She was shy and retiring, Max sought her out when she was trying to leave.
“You know that you are the most extraordinary woman here tonight?Everyone is looking at you…”
When she looked at him, he looked at her mouth with an intense expression. The entire time they practiced, he never touched her in any way that was not professional even as he was dealing intimately with her body. But that look.
He put his hands on her hips.
“If you are leaving, I am coming with you.”
She put her hands over his.
“Come with me then, I have had enough.”
They left, and people looked at them on the New York City streets–her in her gown, him in his tux.
“You know that we are going to have to go back…” he said.
“Since when do you follow the rules?” she chuckled.
Max took her hand.
“I break the rules to makes things better, to better myself. Not to run.”
Veronica went back with him, and enjoyed the rest of the gala. Of the accolade for her performance. Of the time that she spent for most of the night beside Max, the promise of a kiss from him hovering over her all the time.
But they never kissed.
That night.
She went into the closet and looked for the dress that she had worn that night, and then remembered she had given it to Gwennie.
Kisses that she had received from Max since that night hovered over her now. She remembered so many kisses, including the kisses from last night. But she knew that it was time to let his kisses go.
Like butterflies, just to let them go, and watch all their colors as they faded away…

You can get more snogs here.


butterflies via wiki commons