The night was warm, yet every breath between them carried the heat of a thousand untamed fires.
Shivam leaned closer, his lips brushing against hers—not to kiss, but to tease, letting his warm breath linger at the edge of her mouth. She trembled, the anticipation coating her tongue with a thirst no water could quench.
This time, their mouths did not just meet—they collided, drenched, unrestrained. Their tongues twisted like rivers in a storm, sliding, colliding, tangling, as if each was trying to drink the other whole. The wetness between them was no longer just saliva; it was a potion—sticky, warm, intoxicating.
She tilted her head, opening wider, as if surrendering her entire mouth to him. He answered by diving deeper, his tongue tracing the roof of her mouth, the back of her teeth, claiming spaces never touched before. A soft moan slipped out, caught between their lips, swallowed like a forbidden secret.
Soon, their kisses grew reckless—long strands of saliva stretched and broke as they pulled apart only to crash again, hungrier each time. She licked his lower lip deliberately, slowly, tasting every salty-sweet drop. He retaliated by sucking her tongue, not gently, but with a greedy pull that made her knees tremble.
The wet sound of their mouths echoed in the silence of the room—squelching, slurping, dripping like nectar overflowing a sacred chalice. It was raw. It was primal. It was them, drowning in each other's mouths, as though the world outside had ceased to exist.
And in that wild, endless kissing—sticky with trails of saliva glistening down their chins—they found something larger than lust: a rhythm that was theirs alone, a drunken kiss of eternity.