one kiss, two kisses, three, and then four, and so on from there. how you ended up on your couch as a mystery. you had been baking cookies— pink cookies at that, you had insisted they be no other color— but once you had put them in the oven, you had instantly been dragged by wes to your couch. who were you to say no to him? you laid him down beneath you so you’re able to straddle him as a way to gain easier access to his lips, while his finger hook through the belt loops of your jeans to pull your hips impossibly closer to his. at this point you had entirely forgotten about your cookies, fully and utterly to wrapped up in each kiss to function properly

with each touch of his lips, the heat of the moment grows nearly palpable. you can hardly think a single coherent thought. you part your lips as an invitation, and immediately wes takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth, exploring it sensually as things become more intense. you never want to pull back, perhaps if you tried hard enough, or maybe became a scientist you could find a way to stay just like this forever. wrapped up in the moment (additionally forgetting about the cookies) you begin to roll your hips over his, about ready to take things further than just making out on your couch

and you’re sure wes thinks the same because his fingers begin fumbling with the zipper of your jeans and he starts to pull them down slowly until the reach your lower thighs (currently the farthest they’ll go in your position). then, discards those to tug at the hem of your shirt. on your lips he murmurs a “let me take it off” but just as you pull back to do so, a beeping from the kitchen snaps you from your lustful trance. cookies!