Instead, I place my hands on his shoulders, lifting my head off the couch until our lips press against one another as I make a decision for both of us. And it’s such a sweet, gentle, closed-mouth kiss; the kind where you both want it, and you’re not sure how far you can go, or how fast. His lips are soft yet firm, the taste of the scotch he drank on them, and with our mouths simply pressed together, I’m the first to give in. I open mine a little and he groans, his weight coming down on me more, pressing me into the sofa as his tongue invades my mouth with no sign of his earlier hesitation in sight.