[ The kiss is surprisingly tender, there's nothing rough or possessive about it like she thought it would be. Not that she imagined what it'd be like to kiss Klaus, no, not ever. And when she relents, when she yields to this kiss, she feels something bubble up inside of her, something she can't quite name, a twisted sort of feeling, a so that's what this is like line of thought.
This is wrong, really wrong.There's fear coursing through her but it's the wrong kind of fear and she hates herself for it. She shouldn't feel a thrill, she should be far more disgusted, what's wrong with her? She refuses to be that girl, the one straight out of a trashy romance novel where danger is appealing, where being wrong is oh-so-right. There's no heaving bosom here, no man in a flowing shirt, her 'loins/womanhood' aren't aching for him, but she feels something stir inside of her and it freaks her out. She blames the way his touch makes it feel like her skin is on fire on the fact she hasn't gotten any (or anything even close) in weeks.
Thankfully, there's a popping sound and a rain of colored paper falling all around them before she can feel anything more. It's like a bucket of cold water, reality slapping her in the face. Her eyes blink rapidly as she pulls back and looks at him for a breathless moment. But soon a look of doubt and uncertainty as well as confusion pass over her expression before she pulls back, her cheeks feeling uncomfortably warm.]