There wasn't enough time. The kiss moved too quickly, deepening, growing more heated and needy at once. Their lips moved inelegantly, rushed, because in a minute, just another minute, please, they would have to wake up, open their eyes, realize, pay, atone, whatever, but before that, there was so much to communicate and experience. They couldn't possibly wrap up every missed opportunity and unvoiced thought, couldn't satisfy every curiosity, couldn't feel everything—not in this minute they'd stolen from the natural, proper, ordered progression of things, they couldn't, so theirs was a vain effort, like if she clung to him tightly enough or if he pressed deeper, more fervently against her, they might be able to make each other understand.