We were sitting on my couch listening to music and sipping beers when it happened.
It was getting late in the evening and we’d been talking for a couple hours when “Here. In My Head” by Tori Amos began to play. Our bodies were close. My arm rested against his arm and as the melody played, our fingers tentatively weaved together. I leaned my head on his shoulder. He tipped his head, leaning it on my head. We sat quietly together while the song played.
I interrupted as I am wont to do when things get. . . intense. I started to say something about the lyrics of the song, trying to distract myself from the flutter in my stomach, when his other hand moved toward my face, cupping my chin and bringing my face level to his as he said in a low voice, “Shut up.”
And then he kissed me.
It was, by all accounts, up there on the list of perfect kisses. Of course, in typical fashion, I started to talk again as the kiss ended (Sizzle, for the love of God!) forcing him to growl in his sexy voice, “Shut up” and to kiss me once again. In any other circumstance, being told to shut up would not be welcomed but in this instance it was a total turn on.
I’ve been looking for a man who could handle me. Enter: The Fella.
“There he is/standing in the crowd/Whenever I see him I wanna scream “I love you” out loud/The man is my weak spot/Sure enough, he’s my weak spot/I said the man is my weak spot/I’m gonna love you/Oh I’m gonna love you right now. . .” -Weak Spot, Detroit Cobras