André and Vivienne continued kissing, their mouths crashing together with messy urgency. His grip on her waist tightened, pulling her close like he wanted to fuse her to him. Their lips moved fast, almost violently, like they were fighting instead of kissing. It was as if they were trying to kiss eachother until they kill eachother. His hands slid down and began slowly undoing the ribbons of her dress, tugging them apart with deliberate care.
Vivienne tugged his shirt in return, jerking at the buttons like she was wrestling the fabric instead of undressing him. Inside, her head was screaming. Let's just get this over with so I can find that shitty horse and get the fuck out of here. I don't have time for this stupid bullshit.
Her hands brushed against his chest, rough and dry from endless washing. She froze for a second. His skin felt smooth, hot, and far too real under her calloused palms.
