Strong

Her hands are on my hips and her lips are on my neck, brushing lightly over and over again. Her nails dig into my shoulders and she's tearing off my skin, like she's anchoring herself into reality. To stay clear-minded. To become level-headed. To remain herself.

It does not work for me.

I get lost in the sea of kisses she gives me, all on my neck, my cheeks, and the corner of my lips. But never my lips. A tease, she is. She is the devil disguised as an angel. So cleverly disguised that she has forgotten that she is a demon. She believes in her angelic smile, her bright eyes, and beautiful laugh.

I have not forgotten.

Her eyes are black in this light, in this darkness that surrounds us. She looks so lost and scared and confused and I wonder if I look the same to her. Maybe. Maybe not. Because she looks at me with so much conviction that when I look at her I can't help but feel the need to be strong.

I am not that strong.

I ask her to kiss me again and she places her hands on my cheeks and rests her forehead against mine. The action is quick and yet I almost forget to breathe. I hear her sigh and she tells me to leave.

Why is she letting me go?