I meant to be gentle.

Soft.

Slow.

*Sweet*.

The kind of touch
    that lingers like an echo,
    that savors instead of devours.

But then—

Her hands,
    lips,
    body pressed close,

    and every careful thought was gone.

No restraint, no hesitation,
   just a hand fisting fabric,
   a breath stolen mid-sentence—

   a storm breaking open,
   heat crashing into heat,

   a force too strong to hold back.

Outside,
    the sky rumbled in warning,
    wind bending trees,

    lightning tearing across the dark.

Inside,
    we were already lost in the wreckage,
    already past the point

    where anything but…
                       *this*
                       could exist.

And nothing—
    not the world outside,
    not even my own resolve—

    stood a chance against the storm we became.