One Life To Live

I was lounging on my bed chewing on a kernel of caramel popcorn idly as I watched an interesting episode of House M.D. Just then our door bell rang, and I jumped up expecting that it was Bethany Lynn back from her trip in upstate New York. I maneuvered my way out of my bedroom and into the short hallway leading to the locked door.

I thrusted it open, and instantly felt the joy drain out of my body - I wasn't pleased with the sight; even though it was a handsome one.

"What do you want?" I snapped, a frown replacing my hopeful expression of seeing Bethany Lynn.

He was leaning against my door frame - his black hair was disheveled, and his tall, built body was covered in dark wash jeans with a gray long sleeved shirt. His deep, dark green eyes accessed me carefully - running up and down my sweat outfit body.

I stood there, arms crossed, tapping my foot impatiently. "Is there something you want or are you going to yell at me some more about how I am completely without a..." I went on, my arms flailing in a worked-up state as I talked. The words seemed to pour out of me in a irritated rush. He stepped forward, entering my room, and gathered me up in his arms.

"What are you-?" I began.

But I was too late.

His lips possessed mine - his hand clamped around my wrists making me immobile. Irritated and pissed off, I fought back - struggling to pull my arms out of his iron grip. When that inevitably failed, I switched my strategy to banging them against his washboard abs.

Suddenly, I was being pushed backward and my back came into contact with a wall behind me. Lance pressed my arms against it, and pinned them into place there. Fresh anger pulsed through my system as his legs entangled with mine taking away and possible way I could get away from him. Now, it was a personal game - one that I took on myself not to let him take advantage of me mentally even if he was doing it physically. Instead, I kissed him back - fiercely - my mouth aggressively pushing back against his. Feeling this, Lance matched my intensity - his open mouth closing around mine in a fiery response.

With his ragged breathing and mine, the angry, violent kissing kept on. His teeth pulled on my lower lip slightly, and his mouth came back to mine in a fervent kiss. Both of us too stubborn to give up. Not willing to give the other what they wanted - for me; not letting Lance get the satisfaction that he can manhandle me and get away with it. I was not going to comply like a weakling.

And so, became the battle for the upper hand.

"You jerk," I said venomously against his mouth.

"Is that what I am?" He questioned back, not deterred.

"Yes," I answered.

His lips curved into a smile, which made me grit my teeth with anger that I was being placated by him. That was the worst.

I lasted for about another fifteen minutes, and somewhere between the onslaught of heated, passionate kisses - which I resolved they actually were after a while - he got to me.

Yes, he got the best of me.

The silent, nonverbal fight was over and now we had moved on to what was the making up portion of the evening. I knew my bitchy, angry side only put out for a certain amount of time before I couldn't be angry anymore. I was physically and mentally exhausted from being so bent out of shape furious with him.

Our kisses grew resolved - more languid, and nonbelligerent. They grew deep and heavy - filled with tense emotions fused with pure passion for each other. His clamps on my wrists loosened, and slid up to entertwine his hands with mine. His tongue entered my mouth gentler, and he proceeded to kiss me in a way that I felt was addicting. The sensual seductiveness swept me up in it's wistful pleasure. My mind only aware of his lips, and his touch.

He pulled away a moment or so later, and gazed at me. I fought against the squeeze of my heart when he looked at me that way - his eyes looking up at me through those long dark lashes of his. His mouth was opened merely a centimeter - his luscious lips red from my lip gloss I had put on previously. My chest heaved out and in while I tried to recover from the intense make-out session.

My own lips felt bruised and raw. I had no clue how long we've been kissing, but it felt like forever. Finally, he let my arms fall down to my side. His mouth curved into a grin. "Damn," was all he said.

"Tell me about it." I hedged, bringing back the argument from today. "What the hell was with you today?"

He sighed, and replied, "You shouldn't of been in Harlem, Melanie. You knew that wasn't a good idea."

"Like I said, I can handle myself. What do you care?" I argued.

He looked at me funny. Like I wasn't catching onto something. "Why should I care? Should I care if my girlfriend goes into a part of town that she could get hurt, or something even worse? No, that shouldn't bother me at all."

"I'm your girlfriend?" Hearing him say it did odd, enticing things to my ears.

He threw his arms up in the air. "I've gone out on dates with you, I kiss you...that gives the hint that we're dating does it not?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "It's just, you haven't said anything about it."

"I'm not really big on talking about those kinds of things," he admitted.

"I noticed," I smirked, then added, "In that case...kiss me again."