André and Vivienne finally stopped kissing. It felt like the end of an eternity—an eternity spent kissing pure, beautiful poison. Their lips parted slowly, breaths mingling in the small space between them, heavy and uneven, like they had stolen air from each other and didn't quite know how to breathe it back. The taste of him still lingered on her tongue—warm, rich, a little cruel. Her skin was hot, her neck tingling where his fingers had just been.
André pulled back slightly. He cupped her face in his hands, his touch surprisingly soft, almost tender. His thumbs brushed over the corners of her mouth, smudging what little lipstick remained, and she hated that her breath caught a little when he did it. He looked right into her eyes, his voice low and steady. "Let's have breakfast, my heart. I'm starving."
