Prologue

The first thing that comes to my mind is nothing. I'm feeling, not thinking.

I'm feeling his hands gripping every inch of my body; his lips kissing all over my skin; and his hot breath on my neck when he roughly whispers to me. I don't need to think to know how this feels. I can feel it deep in the pit of my stomach and I know, innately, this is a mistake.

If I were thinking I'd know to get the hell out of here.

But I'm not thinking. So I stay. And instead I'm back to just feeling again.

Feeling for the straps of his suspenders and pushing them off his taut shoulders; feeling his hot skin after ripping the buttons of his navy blue shirt open; and feeling blindly for his hat and throwing it to the floor.

He kisses my neck, just below my ear, and all rational, logical thought is shot straight to Hell.

He's like a drug. You know the first touch won't be the last, and once you've had a taste of it, your body begs you for more. You need it and it consumes you. Never mind fighting it because it feels so good once you're in it. You get caught in the haze quickly and it's paralyzing. You just stop thinking.

I feel his hands wrapped around my waist as he smoothly reaches for the zipper of my dress and pulls down. I feel my heart start to race, his neck slick as it rubs against mine.

I hear a round of knocks on the door -- fast, angry knocks -- and I feel myself break into reality. My eyes open for the first time. In an instance one of his hands flies to my mouth, covering it. His other hand remains frozen against my back, pressing into my skin so hard I can feel my racing pulse beneath his fingertips.

I close my eyes and feel, inside, the way addiction to a drug can break you.

A/N: Vague, I know. Thoughts? Feelings? Haha, I'm already making my own corny jokes related to my own story for my own self-centered enjoyment. WILL GIVE COOKIES TO REVIEWERS :)