Her touch on my face feels like sweet absolution. She makes me look up at her. I had heard the tears falling on her cheeks, sensed their smell mingled with her blood, and, if my senses aren't deceiving me, her arousal.
I clench my jaws tightly, but I can't help noticing her body, accidentally uncovered by the fallen blanket. She's mine. I can see it as clearly as I can see I'm hers. As clearly as I can see I shouldn't take advantage of the situation. I shan't be weak. I'll do the abstaining for both of us.
I put the paper in my pocket and crawl next to her on the bed, keeping her hand pressed to my cheek with my own hand. I lean to kiss her mouth, sadly and sweetly, tasting her tears at the corner of her mouth. My free hand finds its place on her breast, making her gasp in surprise.
Just kissing, I tell myself. Kissing and caressing her breasts. That's it. I'll kiss her until she believes that I'm sorry and I love her and I want her, and then I'll do the right thing.
When my tongue enters her mouth, I'm afraid that I might keep kissing her past daybreak. Which would mean we'll have to waste a whole day staying inside the house. And I'm not sure I have enough strength to last until the next sunset without doing something irreparable.
I can't stop kissing her. I think I can do it for eighteen hours straight. If she doesn't push it, I won't get bored kissing her until tomorrow evening.
"The front door's busted," I whisper, giving the girl time to draw breath.