" I know we need to talk about things, lots of things," he chokes, "but I just-"
Susan grabs his face, pulls his head down, and devours him.
And that kiss is everything. It's love and regret and apology. Passion and sex, friendship and promise. It's want and need and yearning and heat and shivers that they both feel shuddering through their bodies. It's ten years' worth of kisses, all crowding into one embrace as the pair of them rediscover each other: the curves of their mouths and bodies pressed close, the insistence of hands and tongues, the hearts hammering in concert, and the silent, mutual promise that there is more- so much more! and better!- to come.
When they finally part, Susan looks up at him with a teasing smile and says, "You're not just doing this for the brownie recipe, are you?"
"Ah, you caught me!" He laughs, then kisses her again and again and again, and when they pause once more, she notices the flush creeping up his neck, the mixture of frustration and desire in his eyes.
Clinging to him, she says, in a throaty voice: "Your place or mine?"
"Well," he answers, with a devilish smile, "yours is closer, but mine doesn't have your father or Julia in it."
"Right," Susan laughs. "Yours, then."
Together, they hurtle through the crowd, through the gates of Charlotte Square, bellowing in unison, "Taxi! "

― Brianne Moore , All Stirred Up