Secondhand
Hearts
By Yvonne Wilson
Genre: Adult, Second Chance Romance
Published: February 2, 2016
 | One shot and she was gone forever. One moment. One decision. I was no longer living. Fading. Dying. My past and my present were stolen. Lost. Misled. My heart was broken that day. Damaged. Shattered. But Secondhand Hearts can be mended. Treasured. Loved. Forgiven. |
~Kessler
It’s just a kiss.
I recite her words silently, hoping to convince myself that they’re true because I jumped on the back of the point of no return.
Her sweet tongue runs along the seam of my lips seeking entrance. Any resolve I held slips away as I draw in a needed breath. Her tongue seizes the opportunity and quickly finds mine, the tip exploring with deliberate strokes that increase in tempo. Excitement spreads from each of my taste buds like embers from a wildfire jumping onto dry brushwood. It sparks a burn to the deepest layer of my body. My brain tells me to shut this down before it goes too far. Her lips are on mine.
It’s just a kiss.
My hands of their own volition move from the edge of my seat and find her shoulders, unsure whether to draw her in or push her away. She shivers under the grip of my fingers. Our mouths find a rhythm that isn’t desperate but intense, potent. I take my hands from her body and weave them through the silk threads of her hair. A moan escapes from her lips and I inhale as if I can breathe in the sound she makes—a keepsake for my memories. The smell of her, the taste of her, the feel of her intoxicates me and numbs any coherence I may have.
It’s just a kiss.
With controlled, purposeful movement she wedges herself further into the space between my legs. A perfect fit. Her palms splay against my bare chest as she raises herself up on her knees to bring us closer together and align our bodies. She trails her fingers along my skin, leaving a wake of goose bumps in their path. One of her gentle but fevered hands travels up to my jaw and the other down the side of my ribs to my waist just inside the band of my shorts. A tug on my lip before she dips her tongue further into my mouth lets me know she’s eager for more.
It’s just a kiss.
Trapping me in her arms, the lace of her bra teases me through her top. She pushes into me more so that her breasts rub against my sensitive nipples. The heat between her thighs causes my hips to rock into hers. There isn’t a splinter of space between us, yet I want her closer. Lips, tongues and teeth collide, sucking and nipping to taste more. I want to sear her flavor onto my tongue and taste her every conscious moment. I accept her oral assault as my punishment.
It’s just a kiss.
A sample of something this incredible can only be my sentence for failing Jaina. I can never fall for Tavyn.
Already fallen…
This is not just a kiss.
| Yvonne Wilson is a teacher by day, working at the elementary level in the resource and learning assistance areas. Her writing is fit into any time possible between taking her three kids to their various sports and activities. She lives in the rainy Pacific Northwest of British Columbia, and will often be found curled up with a good book or watching a crime drama. Yvonne has a love for running shoes even though she doesn’t run, but they sure make an outfit look super cute. She loves guacamole and will eat that by itself or on almost anything. Ice cream ranks pretty high too. |
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