those lips—they could kiss a man senseless, leave him gasping for air, choking from the lack of oxygen in his lungs, then—dead.

within those creases, those little lines that defined her pout just so, and that enticing divot right in the center of her upper lip that men—and occasionally women—had once begged to kiss away, well they could go ahead and kiss it, if they wouldn’t mind too much the poison that would slowly seep from those oh-so-kissable lips, into their greedy mouths, slipping over their tongue and past their throat, eventually tunneling through their bloodstreams and stopping their heart mid-beat.

and she would let go of their mouths with one, last, sensual suck, making the sound that only the separation of mouths can make, wave them farewell and glide away, leaving them lightheaded—from the kiss, which happened to also be stealing the oxygen from their blood cells. it was too easy.