Lip Lock Kiss With Love Quotes

He moved closer to her, his face just inches away from her. They stood motionless. Jason looked deep into her eyes. He tore away her barriers and locked eyes. His nose two inches away, he slightly tilted his face and looked at her lips. She slightly turned her face at the opposite angle.

I knelt and locked the door. I locked the door locking the world and time outside. I stretched my body across the mattress and Saskia drew in close to me and placed her open hand on my chest, her mouth near my shoulder; her breath, my breath blew out the candle, and I held my lost Wanderess with tenderness until sweet sleep overcame us.

An idea hit me so fast I didn't pause to analyse it. I just acted. My body might be constrained, but my head and neck had just enough freedom to shift up-and kiss him. My lips met his, and I learned a few things. One was that it was possible to catch him totally by surprise. His body froze and locked up, shocked at the sudden turn of events. I also realized that he was just as good a kisser as I recalled. The last time we'd kissed had been when he was a Strigoi. There had been an eerie sexiness to that, but it didn't compare to the heat and energy of being alive. His lips were just like a remembered from out time at St. Vladimir's, both soft and hungry at the same time. Electricity spread through the rest of my body as he kissed me back. It was both comforting and exhilarating. And that was was the third thing I discovered. He was kissing me back. Maybe, just maybe, Dimitri wasn't as resolved as he claimed to be. Maybe under all that guilt and certainty that he couldn't love again, he still wanted me. I would have liked to have found out. But I didn't have the time. Instead, I punched him.

You own me,” he said, water sputtering against his lips as his head bobbed at the surface. “You have lock and key, deed to the house, the welcome mat, all that shit. It’s all yours, baby.” “I’ll have to take good care of my property, then.” “And I’ll have to behave on and off the premises. I may be a little rowdy, but...I’ll use my manners.” I sent him a small splash. “No swearing, invading personal space, or forgetting your pleases and thank-yous.” A glimmer twinkled in his irises, and for a moment, it looked as if he was the one about to drown. “Damn straight,” he pulled me against him abruptly, nose to nose. “Now please get over here and fucking kiss me.

Tristan?” He turned his face to me, and it was streaked with tears. I wanted to wipe them away, tell him that everything would be all right, but my body was locked stiff with pain. “Promise me you’ll get better,” he whispered. “Tell me you’ll grow strong again. That you’ll gallop on horseback through summer meadows. Dance in spring rains and let snowflakes melt on your tongue in winter. That you’ll travel wherever the wind takes you. That you’ll live.” He stroked my hair. “Promise me.” Confusion crept over me. “You’ll be with me, though. You’ll do those things too?” He kissed my lips, silencing my questions. “Promise me.” “No,” I said, struggling against him.. “No, you said you were coming with me. You said. You promised.” He had to be coming with me - he said he was and Tristan couldn’t lie. Wouldn’t lie. He got to his feet and stepped into the water. I tried to struggle, but he was too strong. “Tristian, no, no, no!” I tried to scream, but I couldn’t. I tried to hold on to him, but my fingers wouldn’t work. The cold of the water bit into my skin and I sobbed, terrified. “You said you would never leave me!” He stopped, the weight of his sorrow greater than any mountain. “And if I had the choice, I never would. I love you, Cécile. I will love you until the day I take my last breath and that is the truth. “ He kissed me hard. “Forgive me.

It's a physical sickness. Etienne. How much I love him. I love Etienne. I love it when he cocks an eyebrow whenever I say something he finds clever or amusing. I love listening to his boots clomp across my bedroom ceiling. I love that the accent over his first name is called an acute accent, and that he has a cute accent. I love that. I love sitting beside him in physics. Brushing against him during lands. His messy handwriting on our worksheets. I love handing him his backpack when class is over,because then my fingers smell like him for the next ten minutes. And when Amanda says something lame, and he seeks me out to exchange an eye roll-I love that,too. I love his boyish laugh and his wrinkled shirts and his ridiculous knitted hat. I love his large brown eyes,and the way he bites his nails,and I love his hair so much I could die. There's only one thing I don't love about him. Her. If I didn't like Ellie before,it's nothing compared to how I feel now. It doesn't matter that I can count how many times we've met on one hand. It's that first image, that's what I can't shake. Under the streeplamp. Her fingers in his hair. Anytime I'm alone, my mind wanders back to that night. I take it further. She touches his chest. I take it further.His bedroom.He slips off her dress,their lips lock, their bodies press,and-oh my God-my temperature rises,and my stomach is sick. I fantasize about their breakup. How he could hurt her,and she could hurt him,and of all the ways I could hurt her back. I want to grab her Parisian-styled hair and yank it so hard it rips from her skull. I want to sink my claws into her eyeballs and scrape. It turns out I am not a nice person. Etienne and I rarely discussed her before, but she's completely taboo now. Which tortures me, because since we've gotten back from winter break, they seem to be having problems again. Like an obsessed stalker,I tally the evenings he spend with me versus the evening he spends with her. I'm winning.

A quiet but indomitable voice behind me said, “I believe this is my dance.” It was Ren. I could feel his presence. The warmth of him seeped into my back, and I quivered all over like spring leaves in a warm breeze. Kishan narrowed his eyes and said, “I believe it is the lady’s choice.” Kishan looked down at me. I didn’t want to cause a scene, so I simply nodded and removed my arms from his neck. Kishan glared at his replacement and stalked angrily off the dance floor. Ren stepped in front of me, took my hands gently in his, and placed them around his neck, bringing my face achingly close to his. Then he slid his hands slowly and deliberately over my bare arms and down my sides, until they encircled my waist. He traced little circles on my exposes lower back with his fingers, squeezed my waist, and drew my body up tightly against him. He guided me expertly through the slow dance. He didn’t say anything, at least not with words, but he was still sending lots of signals. He pressed his forehead against mine and leaned down to nuzzle my ear. He buried his face in my hair and lifted his hand to stroke down the length of it. His fingers played along my bare arm and at my waist. When the song ended, it took both of us a min to recover our senses and remember where we were. He traced the curve of my bottom lip with his finger then reached up to take my hand from around his neck and led me outside to the porch. I thought he would stop there, but he headed down the stairs and guided me to a wooded area with stone benches. The moon made his skin glow. He was wearing a white shirt with dark slacks. The white made me think of him as the tiger. He pulled me under the shadow of a tree. I stood very still and quiet, afraid that if I spoke I’d say something I’d regret. He cupped my chin and tilted my face up so he could look in my eyes. “Kelsey, there’s something I need to say to you, and I want you to be silent and listen.” I nodded my head hesitantly. “First, I want to let you know that I heard everything you said to me the other night, and I’ve been giving your words some very serious thought. It’s important for you to understand that.” He shifted and picked up a lock of hair, tucked it behind my ear, and trailed his fingers down my cheek to my lips. He smiled sweetly at me, and I felt the little love plant bask in his smile and turn toward it as if it contained the nourishing rays of the sun. “Kelsey,” he brushed a hand through his hair, and his smile turned into a lopsided grin, “the fact is…I’m in love with you, and I have been for some time.” I sucked in a deep breath. He picked up my hand and played with my fingers. “I don’t want you to leave.” He began kissing my fingers while looking directly into my eyes. It was hypnotic. He took something out of his pocket. “I want to give you something.” He held out a golden chain covered with small tinkling bell charms. “It’s an anklet. They’re very popular here, and I got this one so we’d never have to search for a bell again.” He crouched down, wrapping his hand around the back of my calf, and then slid his palm down to my ankle and attached the clasp. I swayed and barely stopped myself from falling over. He trailed his warm fingers lightly over the bells before standing up. Putting his hands on my shoulders, he squeezed, and pulled me closer. “Kells . . . please.” He kissed my temple, my forehead, and my cheek. Between each kiss, he sweetly begged, “Please. Please. Please. Tell me you’ll stay with me.” When his lips brushed lightly against mine, he said, “I need you,” then crushed his lips against mine.

As I said, I don’t expect you to understand—” “And I don’t,” he cut in. “Ye ask how I can live a life that I know will end with the hangman’s noose. Well, at least I am alive. Ye might as well have climbed inside yer husband’s coffin and let yerself be buried with his corpse.” Her hand flashed out before she’d thought about it, the smack against his cheek loud in the little courtyard. Silence had her eyes locked with Michael’s, her chest rising and falling swiftly, but she was aware that Bert and Harry had looked up. Even Mary and Lad had paused in their play. Without taking his gaze from hers, Michael reached out and grasped her hand. He raised her hand to his lips and softly kissed the center of her palm. He looked at her, her hand still at his lips. “Don’t take to yer grave afore yer time, Silence, m’love.

He firmly pulled her body against his and he brushed her lips with his. Staring into her eyes, he lightly slid his tongue across her bottom lip. She drew a deep, staggered breath in response to the wave of heat she felt flushing through her. Derrick smiled at her. Then, he softly kissed her. He lightly swept his tongue between her lips, pressing his warm, soft lips to hers. He slid his hands up her body and cradled her face with his hands. Then, he passionately kissed her, tickling her tongue with his. He sucked her lips, gently, as though he was sampling nectar on a delicate petal. Then, with an intense urgency, he dipped his tongue past her lips, caressing her tongue with his. She felt fluttering inside. Anne’s body craved him. A shallow hum escaped from within her in response to how he was making her feel. She could feel his body responding to her. He was breathing heavier which was waking Anne’s primal needs. The tidal wave of lust that had just churned within her was slowly calming as his kiss became more subtle and tender. He gently pressed his lips against hers. He pulled back a little and looked away, exhaling.

As for us,Etienne was right.Our schools are only a twenty-minute transit ride away.He'll stay with me on the weekends, and we'll visit each other as often as possible during the week. We'll be together.We both got our Point Zero wishes-each other.He said he wished for me every time.He was wishing for me when I entered the tower. "Mmm," I say.He's kissing my neck. "That's it," Rashmi says. "I'm outta here.Enjoy your hormones." Josh and Mer follow her exit,and we're alone.Just the way I like it. "Ha!" Ettiene says. "Just the way I like it." He pulls me onto his lap,and I wrap my legs around his waist.His lips are velvet soft,and we kiss until the streetlamps flicker on outside. Until the opera singer begins her evening routine. "I'm going to miss her," I say. "I'll sing to you." He tucks my stripe behind my ear. "Or I'll take you to the opera.Or I'll fly you back here to visit. Whatever you want.Anything you want." I lace my fingers through his. "I want to stay right here,in this moment." "Isn't that the name of the latest James Ashley bestseller? In This Moment?" "Careful.Someday you'll meet him, and he won't be nearly as amusing in person." Etienne grins. "Oh,so he'll only be mildly amusing? I suppose I can handle mildly amusing." "I'm serious! You have to promise me right now,this instant,that you won't leave me once you meet him.Most people would run." "I'm not most people." I smile. "I know.But you still have to promise." His eyes lock on mine. "Anna,I promise that I will never leave you." My heart pounds in response.And Etienne knows it,because he takes my hand and holds it against his chest,to show me how hard his heart is pounding, too. "And now for yours," he says. I'm still dazed. "My what?" He laughs. "Promise you won't flee once I introduce you to my father.Or, worse, leave me for him." I pause. "Do you think he'll object to me?" "Oh,I'm sure he will." Okay.Not the answer I was looking for. Etienne sees my alarm. "Anna.You know my father dislikes anything that makes me happy.And you make me happier than anyone ever has." He smiles. "Oh,yes. He'll hate you." "So....that's a good thing?" "I don't care what he thinks.Only what you think." He holds me tighter. "Like if you think I need to stop biting my nails." "You've worn your pinkies to nubs," I say cheerfully. "Or if I need to start ironing my bedspread." "I DO NOT IRON MY BEDSPREAD." "You do.And I love it." I blush,and Etienne kisses my warm cheeks. "You know,my mum loves you." "She goes?" "You're the only thing I've talked about all year.She's ecstatic we're together." I'm smiling inside and out. "I can't wait to meet her.

My time in camp with Kaden had become awkward several times, or perhaps I was just more self-conscious now. I had known he cared about me. It was hardly a secret. It was the reason I was still alive, but I hadn’t quite grasped how much he cared. And in spite of myself, I knew in my own way, I cared about him too. Not Kaden the assassin, but the Kaden I had known back in Terravin, the one who had caught my attention the minute he walked through the tavern door. The one who was calm and had mysterious, but kind, eyes. I remembered dancing with him at the festival, his arms pulling me closer, and the way he struggled with his thoughts, holding them back. He didn’t hold back the night he was drunk. The fireshine had loosened his lips and he laid it all out quite blatantly. Slurred and sloshy but clear. He loved me. This from a barbarian who was sent to kill me. I lay back, staring into the cloudless sky, a shade bluer and brighter than yesterday. Did he even know what love was? For that matter, did I? Even my parents didn’t seem to know. I crossed my arms behind my head as a pillow. Maybe there was no one way to define it. Maybe there were as many shades of love as the blues of the sky. I wondered if his interest had begun when I tended his shoulder. I remembered his odd look of surprise when I touched him, as if no one had ever shown him a kindness before. If Griz, Finch, and Malich were any indication of his past, maybe no one had. They showed a certain steely devotion to one another, but it in no way resembled kindness. And then there were those scars on his chest and back. Only cruel savage could have delivered those. Yet somewhere along the way, Kaden had learned kindness. Tenderness, even. It surfaced in small actions. He seemed like he was two separate people, the intensely loyal Vendan assassin and someone else far different, someone he had locked away, a prisoner just like me.

Smiling victoriously, he crushed me against his chest and kissed me again. This time, the kiss was bolder and playful. I ran my hands from his powerful shoulders, up to his neck, and pressed him close to me. When he pulled away, his face brightened with an enthusiastic smile. He scooped me up and spun me around the room, laughing. When I was thoroughly dizzy, he sobered and touched his forehead to mine. Shyly, I reached out to touch his face, exploring the angles of his cheeks and lips with my fingertips. He leaned into my touch like the tiger did. I laughed softly and ran my hands up into his hair, brushing it away from his forehead, loving the silky feel of it. I felt overwhelmed. I didn’t expect a first kiss to be so…life altering. In a few brief moments, the rule book of my universe had been rewritten. Suddenly I was a brand new person. I was as fragile as a newborn, and I worried that the deeper I allowed the relationship to progress, the worse that the deeper I allowed the relationship to progress, the worse it would be if Ren left. What would become of us? There was no way to know, and I realized what a breakable and delicate thing a heart was. No wonder I’d kept mine locked away. He was oblivious to my negative thoughts, and I tried to push them into the back of my mind and enjoy the moment with him. Setting me down, he briefly kissed me again and pressed soft kisses along my hairline and neck. Then, he gathered me into a warm embrace and just held me close. Stroking my hair while caressing my neck, he whispered soft words in his native language. After several moments, he sighed, kissed my cheek, and nudged me toward the bed. “Get some sleep, Kelsey. We both need some.” After one last caress on my cheek with the back of his fingers, he changed into his tiger form and lay down on the mat beside my bed. I climbed into bed, settled under my quilt, and leaned over to stroke his head. Tucking my other arm under my cheek, I softly said, “Goodnight, Ren.” He rubbed his head against my hand, leaned into it, and purred quietly. Then he put his head on his paws and closed his eyes. Mae West, a famous vaudeville actress, once said, “A man’s kiss is his signature.” I grinned to myself. If that was true, then Ren’s signature was the John Hancock of kisses.

She pushed and elbowed and knocked and strained to catch him, and finally, she did, reaching out for his hand--adoring the fact that neither of them wore gloves, loving the way their skin came together, the way his brought wonderful heat in a lush, irresistible current. He felt it too. She knew it because he stopped the instant they touched, turning to face her, grey eyes wild as Devonshire rain. She knew it because he whispered her name, aching and beautiful and soft enough for only her to hear. And she it because his free hand rose, captured her jaw and titled her face up to him even as he leaned down and stole her lips and breath and thought in a kiss that she would never in her lifetime forget. The was like food and drink, like sleep, like breath. She needed it with the same elemental desire and she cared not a bit that all of London was watching. Yes, she was masked, but it did not matter. She would have stripped to her chemise for this kiss. To her skin. Their fingers still intertwined, he wrapped their arms behind her back and pulled her to him, claiming her mouth with lips and tongue and teeth, marking her with one long luscious kiss that went on and on until she thought she might die from the pleasure of it. Her free hand was in his hair then, tangling in the soft locks, loving their silky promise. She was lost, claimed and fairly consumed by the intensity of the kiss, and for the first time in her life, Pippa gave herself up to emotion, pouring every bit of her desire and her passion and her fear and her need into this moment This caress. This man. This man, who was everything she had never allowed herself to dream she would find. This man, who made her believe in friendship. In partnership.. In love

I know I get crazy when it comes to you, but God knows I’m tryin’, Pidge. I don’t wanna screw this up.” “Then don’t.” “This is hard for me, ya know. I feel like any second you’re going to figure out what a piece of shit I am and leave me. When you were dancing last night, I saw a dozen different guys watching you. You go to the bar, and I see you thank that guy for your drink. Then that douchebag on the dance floor grabs you.” “You don’t see me throwing punches every time a girl talks to you. I can’t stay locked up in the apartment all the time. You’re going to have to get a handle on your temper.” “I will. I’ve never wanted a girlfriend before, Pigeon. I’m not used to feeling this way about someone…about anyone. If you’ll be patient with me, I swear I’ll get it figured out.” “Let’s get something straight; you’re not a piece of shit, you’re amazing. It doesn’t matter who buys me drinks, or who asks me to dance, or who flirts with me. I’m going home with you. You’ve asked me to trust you, and you don’t seem to trust me.” He frowned. “That’s not true.” “If you think I’m going to leave you for the next guy that comes along, then you don’t have much faith in me.” He tightened his grip. “I’m not good enough for you, Pidge. That doesn’t mean I don’t trust you, I’m just bracing for the inevitable.” “Don’t say that. When we’re alone, you’re perfect. We’re perfect. But then you let everyone else ruin it. I don’t expect a one-eighty, but you have to pick your battles. You can’t come out swinging every time someone looks at me.” He nodded. “I’ll do anything you want. Just…tell me you love me.” “You know I do.” “I need to hear you say it,” he said, his brows pulling together. “I love you,” I said, touching my lips to his. “Now quit being such a baby.” He laughed, crawling into the bed with me. We spent the next hour in the same spot under the covers, giggling and kissing, barely noticing when Kara returned from the shower.

Why did you come out when you knew how your family would react?” I murmured, wrapping my arms around his waist. I brushed my lips the length of Lock’s neck. “Because I didn’t want to hide. I hated acting like I was someone I wasn’t.” “I never did thank you for that sub.” Lock laughed. “Adan, you’ve thanked me a hundred times over.” “I don’t recall.” “Every time we’re together, or when you kiss me, it’s a constant reminder of how we met, and I wouldn’t exchange that for anything.

When I thought you’d died—” “Don’t say it,” she choked out. “You don’t have to relive that.” “No,” he said. “I do. I have to tell you. It was the first time— even after all these years of expecting my own death— that I truly knew what it meant to die. Because with you gone . . . there was nothing left for me to live for. I don’t know how my mother did it.” “She had her children,” Kate said. “She couldn’t leave you.” “I know,” he whispered, “but the pain she must have endured . . .” “I think the human heart must be stronger than we could ever imagine.” Anthony stared at her for a long moment, his eyes locking with hers until he felt they must be one person. Then, with a shaking hand, he cupped the back of her head and leaned down to kiss her. His lips worshiped hers, offering her every ounce of love and devotion and reverence and prayer that he felt in his soul. -Anthony & Kate

One of his hands move away from my face to flatten against my back, pulling me closer to him as he deepens the kiss. He parts my lips under his as my mind seems to sign quietly in content. I kiss him back as fiercely as he kisses me, unable to control the infatuation that rushes through me - feeling almost like fireworks. Not so careful anymore. Little shivers of urgency shoot through me. I push off the window, pressing closer to him. The rush of sensation that is coursing through me feels like I've drunk a gallon of coffee. It feels like an electric buzz is flooding between us.

Is that a no?" I said. "No. I mean.." He struggled for the smile again. "I'm just waiting for the punch line. Something about making it date so I need to pay. Or you expecting flowers. Or.." He trailed off. "There isn't a punch line," I said. I rose onto my knees and inched over, in front of him. Then I stopped about a foot away. "No punch line, Daniel," I said. "I'm asking if you'll go out with me." He didn't answer. Just reched out, his hand sliding between my hair and face, pulling me toward him and.. And he kissed me. His lips touched mine, tentatively, still unsure, and I eased closer, my arms going around his neck. He kissed me for real then, a long kiss that I felt in the bottom of my soul, a click, some deep part of me saying, "Yes, this is it." Even when the kiss broke off, it didn't end. It was like coming to the surface for a quick gasp of air, then plunging back down again, finding that sweet spot again, and holding onto it for as long as we could. Finally it tapered off, and we were lying on the picnic blanket, side by side, his hand on my hip, kissing slower now, with more breaks for air. until I said, "We should have done that sooner." He smiled, a lazy half smile, and he just looked at me for a moment, our gazes locked, lying there in drowsy happiness, before he said, "I think now's just fine." And he kissed me again, slower and softer now, as we rested there, eyes half closed. "So, about Saturday, did you ask me?" he said after a minute, "Because I'm pretty sure that means yo're paying." "Nope. You were imaging it. Considering how you eat, the meal bill is all yours. But I will spring for the movie. And bring you flowers." He chuckled. "Will you?" "Yep, a dozen pink roses, which you'll have to carry all night or risk offending me." "And what happens if I offend you?" "You don't get any more of this." I leaned in and kissed him again. And we stayed out there, on the blanket, as the sun fell, talking and kissing mostly, just being together. We had a long road ahead of us, and I knew it wasn't going to be easy. But I had everything I wanted-everything I needed-and I'd get through it just fine. We all would.

He did atrocious things, but it was him I wanted. Always, only him. Troy stopped when we were nose to nose. Toe to toe. I loved watching those eyes from up-close. They were so ocean blue, no wonder they made my head swim. “I love you, Red. I love you determined, tough, innocent, resilient…” His brows furrowed as he drank me in, stroking the curve of my face with his calloused fingertips. “I love you broken, insecure, scared, furious and pissed off…” He let a small smile loose. I actually felt it, even though it was on his lips. “I love every part of you, the good and the bad, the hopeless and the assertive. We don’t just love. We heal each other with every touch and complete each other with ever kiss. And fuck, I know it’s corny as hell, but that’s what I need. You’re what I need.” My eyes fluttered shut, a lone tear hanging from the tip of my eyelash. “We don’t have ordinary words between us. You always set my fucking brain on fire when you talk to me. We don’t even have ordinary moments of silence. I always feel like I’m playing with you or being played by you when you’re around. And I refuse to let you walk out on this, on us.” He cupped my cheeks and I locked his palms in place, tightening my grip. I never wanted him to let go. He dipped his head down, tilting his forehead against mine. I knew he was right. Knew that I’d already forgiven him. Probably before I even knew what he did, when we were still living together. Hell, probably on that dance floor, when I was nine. My capturer. My monster. My savior. “I’m an asshole, was an asshole, and have every intention of staying an asshole. It’s the makeup of my fucking DNA. But I want to be your asshole. To you, I can be good. Maybe even great. For you, I’ll stop the rain from falling and the thunder from cracking and the wind from fucking blowing. And yes, I sure as hell knew you’d come back. You came straight back into my arms, flew back to your nest, lovebird. Now why would you do that if you didn’t love the shit out of me?” My eyes roamed his face. His hands felt delicious on my skin. It was like he was pumping life into me with his fingertips. Like he made me whole before I even knew parts of me were missing.

She slid her free hand over his shoulder, soft breasts crushing against his chest. All his blood rushed down to his groin, taking with it the last vestiges of his rational thought. He locked his arms around her, pulling her so close he could feel each gentle breath as an exquisite stroke on his cock. Raw desire coursed through his veins as his hands skimmed over the sweet softness of her curves. "Someone is watching us through the window," she murmured, her breath warm on his cheek. "All the more reason to put on a good show." With one hand on her nape, he tipped back her head and covered her mouth with his own. A moan escaped her lips, filling his head with thoughts of tangled sheets, banging headboards, sweat-slicked skin, and the realization of a fantasy that had consumed him night after sleepless night since she'd turned sixteen and he'd realized she wasn't a little girl anymore. He parted her lips with the gentle slide of his tongue, touching, tasting, savoring, pausing between heady sips to let her essence dance over his taste buds. With every breath he inhaled the fresh scent of wildflowers in a rain-soaked meadow, the grassy lawn where they'd played catch in the summer sun. He'd known she was smart and fun and beautiful. But this kiss. These feelings. The throbbing heat of desire. It was all completely new.

You've had ample opportunity to send me up the river… you could've easily gotten me locked up long ago just by opening your mouth. I didn't need to marry you to gain your silence. You've given it to me from the start. If you didn't turn on me then, when you had plenty of reason to, I trust that you won't do it now, ring or no ring. I married you, Karissa, because I love you. Nothing more, nothing less." As many times as he's said those words… I love you… it still makes my stomach flutter to hear them come from him. The butterflies soar. He's not an outwardly emotional person, not at all, so when he says it, I know he means it. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I reach up on my tiptoes and kiss him. His lips are soft, sweet. His tongue tastes like peppermint. "I love you, too, you know." "I know.

Confession: I miss you." "Ian ..." "Confession: you're my best friend." "Please stop." "Confession: if you gave me the chance, I'd love you until forever." I swallowed hard as I watched him walk toward me. I was standing right in the middle of pig manure, doing the most disgusting job, looking as if I hadn't slept in days, and Ian Parker was telling me how he wanted to love me forever. He continued on. "Confession: you are my sun, my moon, and my stars. Confession: whatever's hurting you, we can fix together. Confession: I'm never going to give up on this." I didn't know how it happened. I didn't know how my hands found his or how our bodies became pressed together. I didn't know how his forehead fell to mine of how my heartbeats increased erratically. I didn't know how his lips fell so close to mine or how his exhalations became my inhalations. But there we were, seconds away from our lips locking together, and me falling into a drunkenness that I'd never be able to recover from. If I started kissing Ian, I knew I'd never be able to stop. He was it for me. He was the hook, the bridge, and the melody.

I love you.” She was almost angry. “Do you get it? You. These kids. This life. It is my world.” He nodded. She knew he felt the same way, but this Blake didn’t talk, he proved. He found the spot on her body that made her see white and held her until she was desperate for more. Then he reached behind her and turned on the washer. Dirty. Filthy for her. He kissed her and added tongue, bit her neck gently while the vibrations from the machine increased. She would come for him like this. He pushed up her shirt and pulled down her panties so he could be inside her when she was lost in the ecstasy of it, of him. He came right after she did, and she locked him close with her legs, dragging her nails down his back as he bit his lip to stay quiet. He kissed the top of her head in between gasps for air. He looked in her eyes before responding, “I get it.

When their lips finally met, all the pent up emotion within Christina’s breast surged, funneling into a whirlwind of heat. Pushing away all thoughts, she allowed herself only to feel. Lachlan could be so physical, so powerful, so brutal, but when he wrapped his arms around her, Christina felt invincible. Be it true or nay, she felt loved, and cherished, and valued. Reaching up, she slid her fingers through his locks. Soft waves of thick tresses contrasted with hardened male…. As his kiss eased, he cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand. “I wish I could hold you in my arms forever.

After watching—with a twinge of satisfaction—the letters burn to ashes in the fireplace, Evie felt sleepy. She went to the master bedroom for a nap. In spite of her weariness, it was difficult to relax while she was worried about Sebastian. Her thoughts chased round and round, until her tired brain put an end to the useless fretting and she dropped off to sleep. When she awakened an hour or so later, Sebastian was sitting on the bed beside her, a lock of her bright hair clasped loosely between a thumb and forefinger. He was watching her closely, his eyes the color of heaven at daybreak. She sat up and smiled self-consciously. Gently Sebastian stroked back her tumbled hair. “You look like a little girl when you sleep,” he murmured. “It makes me want to guard you every minute.” “Did you find Mr. Bullard?” “Yes, and no. First tell me what you did while I was gone.” “I helped Cam to arrange things in the office. And I burned all your letters from lovelorn ladies. The blaze was so large, I’m surprised no one sent for a fire brigade.” His lips curved in a smile, but his gaze probed hers carefully. “Did you read any of them?” Evie lifted a shoulder in a nonchalant half shrug. “A few. There were inquiries as to whether or not you’ve yet tired of your wife.” “No.” Sebastian drew his palm along the line of her thigh. “I’m tired of countless evenings of repetitive gossip and tepid flirtation. I’m tired of meaningless encounters with women who bore me senseless. They’re all the same to me, you know. I’ve never given a damn about anyone but you.” “I don’t blame them for wanting you,” Evie said, looping her arms around his neck. “But I’m not willing to share.” “You won’t have to.” He cupped her face in his hands and pressed a swift kiss to her lips.

Cam paused, staring down at her with dilated eyes, the irises bright gold rims around circles of fathomless midnight. “Amelia, love…” His kiss tasted of salt and intimacy. “Can you take a little more of me?” She fought to think above the confusion of pleasure, and shook her head jerkily. The corners of his lips deepened with a smile. He whispered, “I think you can.” His hands played over her, solicitous fingertips sliding to the place they were joined. He pressed inside her, a low rhythmic movement, and his fingers were astonishingly gentle, almost delicate, as they stroked in time to the patient thrusts. Gasping, she arched to take him deeper, and deeper still. Every time he pushed, his body rubbed hers in exactly the right way. She began to lift eagerly, anticipating each invasion, panting for it, sensation building on sensation until it culminated in a blinding swell of delight … and another … another … she felt him begin to withdraw and she moaned and twined her legs around his hips. “Amelia,” he gasped, “no, let me … I’ve got to…” Shuddering, he spent helplessly inside her, while her body gripped and stroked the hard length of him. Still locked together, Cam rolled Amelia to her side. He muttered something in Romany. Although she didn’t understand a word, it sounded highly complimentary. Limp with pleasure and exhaustion, Amelia rested her head on the solid curve of his biceps, her breath catching as she felt the occasional twitch and pulse of him in the depths of her body.

Alecto was angry, and raised her up, and kissed her. The child did not cry out, though blood fell from her lips and tongue, and she was wounded sore. For Alecto knew not how to kiss, except such as it involved the mouth and teeth. And Alecto said to her, Why are you not appeased? That is how meat loves meat.

Well, let me put it this way: the only thing about the King of Wands that doesn’t quite fit with you is that he is a man of fiery passions.” He raised his brows. “And I am not?” She smirked at him. “I don’t know. Are you?” Such a question. He dismissed it as rhetorical until she laid the king on the table and locked eyes with him. Boldly. And as he studied her expression, he sensed an invitation. A dare. A challenge for him to answer her about whether he was a man of fiery passions. He nearly succumbed to the temptation to show her just how fiery his passions could be. Restraint, Charles. Hold yourself in check. He sobered, as temperance, his lifelong, rational, and calming friend, curbed his urge to kiss the question right off her lips.

The hot water cascaded down his body, and his thoughts again turned to the captivating and mysterious girl who'd fled his house. He hadn't even seen her face without makeup, though he wished he had. Her lips were full, her breasts were beautiful, and her ass was round. And the way she kissed with her delicious mouth had driven Ramón wild. His hand reached down to stroke his throbbing cock. Oh, how he wished it was her delicate fingers wrapped around his length, or better yet, her mouth. Yeah, that was it. He wanted to fuck her mouth. The soft tongue of hers licking his tip, teasing him until he couldn't resist her any longer. Juliet on her knees in front of him, deep throating him. Her eyes locked on his as she took him deeper and deeper.

He slammed his cup down. Coffee splashed over the rim and puddled around the base. “What on earth gave you the idea I want space? I want you here. With me. All the time. I want to come home and hear the shower running and get excited because I know you’re in it. I want to struggle every morning to get up and go to the gym because I hate the idea of leaving your warm body behind in bed. I want to hear a key turn in the lock and feel contented knowing you’re home. I don’t want fucking space, Harper.” Harper laughed. “What’s funny?” “I didn’t mean space. I meant space, like closet space, a drawer in the bedroom, part of the counter in the bathroom.” Trent’s mouth twitched, a slight smile making its way to his lips. “Like a compromise. A commitment that I want more. I seem to recall you telling me in the car about something being a step in the right direction to a goal we both agreed on. Well, I want all those things you just said, with you, eventually. And if we start to leave things at each other’s places, it’s a step, right?” Trent reached up, flexing his delicious tattooed bicep, and scratched the side of his head. Without speaking, he leapt to his feet, grabbing Harper and pulling her into a fireman’s lift. “Trent,” she squealed, kicking her feet to get free. “What are you doing?” He slapped her butt playfully and laughed as he carried her down the hallway. Reaching the bedroom, Trent threw her onto the bed. “We’re doing space. Today, right now.” He started pulling open his drawers, looking inside each one before pulling stuff out of the top drawer and dividing it between the others. “Okay, this is for your underwear. I need to see bras, panties, and whatever other girly shit you have in here before the end of the day.” Like a panther on the prowl, Trent launched himself at the bed, grabbing her ankle and pulling her to the edge of the bed before sweeping her into his arms to walk to the bathroom. He perched her on the corner of the vanity, where his stuff was spread across the two sinks. “Pick one.” “Pick one what?” “Sink. Which do you want?” “You’re giving me a whole sink? Wait … stop…” Trent grabbed her and started tickling her. Harper didn’t recognize the girly giggles that escaped her. Pointing to the sink farthest away from the door, she watched as he pushed his toothbrush, toothpaste, and styling products to the other side of the vanity. He did the same thing with the vanity drawers and created some space under the sink. “I expect to see toothbrush, toothpaste, your shampoo, and whatever it is that makes you smell like vanilla in here.” “You like the vanilla?” It never ceased to surprise her, the details he remembered. Turning, he grabbed her cheeks in both hands and kissed her hard. He trailed kisses behind her ear and inhaled deeply before returning to face her. “Absolutely. I fucking love vanilla,” he murmured against her lips before kissing her again, softly this time. “Oh and I’d better see a box of tampons too.” “Oh my goodness, you are beyond!” Harper blushed furiously. “I want you for so much more than just sex, Harper.

I obey. He tosses my jeans aside and settles between my legs and grabs hold of my wrists again. With his other hand, he lubes up his dick, then guides it to the place that aches for him. “Fucking fuck me,” I beg. Humor dances in his eyes. “I’m not going to fuck you.” Now I’m groaning again. Goddamn it. If he plans on torturing me again, I really will lose my mind— “I’m going to make love to you,” he finishes. My breath hitches. Smiling, Wes drops his mouth to mine. Our lips lock at the same moment he slowly slides inside me. The burn of pleasure makes me gasp but he swallows the sound with a soft, sweet kiss that matches the soft, sweet strokes of his cock. He fills me. Completes me. My dick is an iron spike against my belly, and I struggle against the tight band of his fingers around my wrists.

Do it again," she whispered, tilting her head, offering her mouth to him. Staring down at her swollen bottom lip, he gave it a little lick. A small, soft moan sounded from the back of her throat. "Ask nicely," he whispered. "Please." She gave a lock of hair at his neck an impatient tug. He came undone. Delving his tongue inside her sweet mouth, he walked her backward until her back met one of the pillars. With one hand cradling the back of her head for protection, his other hand held her hip immobilized, under his control. Rhythmically, he sank his tongue into her honeyed depths, mimicking the motion of making love. She whimpered, the sound a desperate plea. Her fingers threaded through the damp hair at the base of his neck; her other hand clutched at his forearm. He squeezed her hip, his long fingers digging into her soft bottom as he rocked her into his arousal. For several moments, she ground her hips against him as he plundered her mouth. The kiss was no longer enough. He wanted to take her. Right here, right now. His fingertips trailed down the back of her neck to caress her shoulder, her arm, her breast. His breath hitched when she pushed herself more firmly into his hand. She wanted his touch. He complied of course: he would never deny her. Gently he kneaded her through the fabric of her dress, purposely passing his thumb over the hardened tip. She made a small sound of pleasure that nearly pushed him over the edge. The manor, the rain, the mud disappeared. Reason and practicality were momentarily suspended. Nothing mattered in those moments. Nothing but the ever-escalating power of their passion.

He approached her, his voice taking on a seductive tenor. "Shall we seal it with a kiss, then?" Callie caught her breath and stiffened at the question. Ralston smiled at her obvious nerves. He ran a finger along the edge of her hairline, tucking a rogue lock of hair behind her ear gently. She looked up at him with her wide brown eyes, and he felt a burst of tenderness in his chest. He leaned close, moving slowly, as though she might scare at any moment, and his firm mouth brushed across hers, settling briefly, barely touching before she jumped back, one hand flying to her lips. He leveled her with a frank gaze and waited for her to speak. When she didn't, he asked, "Is there a problem?" "N-No!" she said, a touch too loudly. "Not at all, my lord. That is- Thank you." His breath exhaled on a half laugh. "I'm afraid that you have mistaken the experience." He paused, watching the confusion cross her face. "You see, when I agree to something, I do it wholeheartedly. That was not the kiss for which you came, little mouse." Callie wrinkled her nose at his words, and at the nickname he had used for her. "It wasn't?" "No." Her nervousness flared, and she resumed toying with her cloak tassel. "Oh, well. It was quite nice. I find I am quite satisfied that you have held up your end of our bargain." "Quite nice isn't what you should be aiming for," he said, taking her restless hands into his own and allowing his voice to deepen. "Neither should the kiss leave you satisfied." She tugged briefly, giving up when he would not free her and instead pulled her closer, setting her hands upon his shoulders. He trailed his fingers down her neck, leaving her breathless, her voice a mere squeak when she replied, "How should it leave me?" He kissed her then. Really kissed her. He pulled her against him and pressed his mouth to hers, possessing, owning in a way she could never have imagined. His lips, firm and warm, played across her own, tempting her until she was gasping for breath. He captured the sound in his mouth, taking advantage of her open lips to run his tongue along them, tasting her lightly until she couldn't bear the teasing. He seemed to read her thoughts, and just when she couldn't stand another moment, he gathered her closer and deepened the kiss, changing the pressure. He delved deeper, stroked more firmly. And she was lost. Callie was consumed, finding herself desperate to match his movements. Her hands seemed to move of their own volition, running along his broad shoulders and wrapping around his neck. Tentatively, she met Ralston's tongue with her own and was rewarded with a satisfied sound from deep in his throat as he tightened his grip, sending another wave of heat through her. He retreated, and she followed, matching his movements until his lips closed scandalously around her tongue and he sucked gently- the sensation rocked her to her core. All at once she was aflame.

Never in my life had I even contemplated making love on a motorcycle, but there was no way Gareth would let me fall. I understood this on a primal level. He would keep me from harm, protect me... No matter how much I distracted and pleasured him. He pulled gently at the sensitive tip of my breast with his lips, soothing and teasing all at once. I reached behind to brace myself on the handlebars, my back arching toward him, offering myself as I watched his mouth on my skin, his tongue circling my nipple. He moved his other hand lower, pushing the bottom of my dress up. Moving his fingers up the soft skin of my inner thigh, he rubbed and teased me through the thin fabric of my thong underwear. "I need you," I gasped. "Now." He ripped my thong like it'd been made of tissue paper, and slid his fingers deep inside of me. His growl made me shiver with desire as he discovered just how ready I was for him. I gripped the handlebars tighter and leaned back a little, breaking the kiss as I stared into his eyes. Gareth took hold of my hips and pulled me closer, guiding me onto him. Every rock hard inch slid into me so slowly, my entire body shuddered with pleasure. He reached forward, taking my hands from the grips and putting them around his neck. Nose to nose, his dark eyes locked on mine as he thrust deeper inside of me. "You're mine. I'm yours." I wasn't sure what was happening, but my wolf came alive in my soul and I whispered, "I claim my mate.

Look, Jordan, you’re not alone any more. It’s my job to protect you while I’m here and I can’t do that if you keep pushing me away.” “That’s the problem, Michael,” I shot back. “You have more responsibilities to your boss than you do to me. You taught me how to defend myself, how to heal myself, and that should be good enough. You can’t keep babysitting one little human when you have an entire cosmos to worry about.” He faced me again, those green eyes boring into mine as if he could see straight through me. “Are you saying you want me to leave?” My chest tightened. I hadn’t expected him to say that. I bit my bottom lip, glancing away. “That’s not what I mean.” “Then what do you mean?” “Since when have I ever known what the hell I mean?” He touched my right cheek, making me face him. “You do when it counts.” Staring up at him, shirtless, vulnerable, and wounded, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. He had a knack for picking my walls apart brick by brick. It bothered me. He took a step closer, casting a shadow over me. “Stop,” I mumbled, fixing my eyes on the floor. He brushed a lock of hair behind my ear, sliding his warm hand to lift my chin so I’d have to look at him. “Stop what?” he murmured. “Looking at me.” “Why?” “That’s how Terrell used to look at me before we kissed.” His lips parted to say something but I pushed past him, gathering up my duster from where it lay on the bed next to the dress. “Get dressed. We have more ghosts to help.

Todd wrapped his arm around her. They stood together in silent awe, watching the sunset. All Christy could think of was how this was what she had always wanted, to be held in Todd's arms as well as in his heart. Just as the last golden drop of sun melted into the ocean, Christy closed her eyes and drew in a deep draught of the sea air. "Did you know," Todd said softly, "that the setting sun looks so huge from the island of Papua New Guinea that it almost looks like you're on another planet? I've seen pictures." Then, as had happened with her reflection in her cup of tea and in her disturbing dream, Christy heard those two piercing words, "Let go." She knew what she had to do. Turning to face Todd, she said, "Pictures aren't enough for you, Todd. You have to go." "I will. Someday. Lord willing," he said casually. "Don't you see, Todd? The Lord is willing. This is your 'someday.' Your opportunity to go on the mission field is now. You have to go." Their eyes locked in silent communion. "God has been telling me something, Todd. He's been telling me to let you go. I don't want to, but I need to obey Him." Todd paused. "Maybe I should tell them I can only go for the summer. That way I'll only be gone a few months. A few weeks, really. We'll be back together in the fall." Christy shook her head. "It can't be like that, Todd. You have to go for as long as God tells you to go. And as long as I've known you, God has been telling you to go. His mark is on your life, Todd. It's obvious. You need to obey Him." "Kilikina," Todd said, grasping Christy by the shoulders, "do you realize what you're saying? If I go, I may never come back." "I know." Christy's reply was barely a whisper. She reached for the bracelet on her right wrist and released the lock. Then taking Todd's hand, she placed the "Forever" bracelet in his palm and closed his fingers around it. "Todd," she whispered, forcing the words out, "the Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make His face to shine upon you and give you His peace. And may you always love Jesus more than anything else. Even more than me." Todd crumbled to the sand like a man who had been run through with a sword. Burying his face in his hands, he wept. Christy stood on wobbly legs. What have I done? Oh, Father God, why do I have to let him go? Slowly lowering her quivering body to the sand beside Todd, Christy cried until all she could taste was the salty tears on her lips. They drove the rest of the way home in silence. A thick mantle hung over them, entwining them even in their separation. To Christy it seemed like a bad dream. Someone else had let go of Todd. Not her! He wasn't really going to go. They pulled into Christy's driveway, and Todd turned off the motor. Without saying anything, he got out of Gus and came around to Christy's side to open the door for her. She stepped down and waited while he grabbed her luggage from the backseat. They walked to the front door. Todd stopped her under the trellis of wildly fragrant white jasmine. With tears in his eyes, he said in a hoarse voice, "I'm keeping this." He lifted his hand to reveal the "Forever" bracelet looped between his fingers. "If God ever brings us together again in this world, I'm putting this back on your wrist, and that time, my Kilikina, it will stay on forever." He stared at her through blurry eyes for a long minute, and then without a hug, a kiss, or even a good-bye, Todd turned to go. He walked away and never looked back.

Our eyes met and a never-before feeling entered our hearts. We gazed at each other longingly. We were indeed smitten by each other. Even before we realised, our lips locked. Ah, my first kiss. I had heard stories of how the first kiss is etched in one’s memory forever. This was absolute bliss. I felt a sense of belonging, a sense of togetherness. He took me by surprise with his proposal of love for me. Those magical words still linger in my heart. My dream of finding the right man had become a reality.

Feeling suddenly slightly liberated and relaxed, I looked over at him. His eyes fixed on the seat in front of him. His hands were in his lap, fingers dancing around in the air as if he was anxious. “I know I love you because even when you just punched me in my stomach…and by the way, that hurt” he stopped and smiled at me. “I wanted to kiss you.” As soon as the words left his lips, my mouth popped open. My cheeks were hot. The kid in front of us was grinning. He locked his eyes on me and waited for my response. Nosy little kid.

You can have that life,” he told her. “It’s right there for you to take.” “I love you,” Eve quickly countered. “Loving me hurts you, doesn’t it?” Beckett asked, looking down. “No, you don’t have to tell me. I know. I can smell it. I can smell the pain coming off of you,” he said, looking at the floor. “You had love before and a future. What does loving me get you, Eve? What does it get you?” He stood, angry with himself. “I don’t need to get anything from you. It’s the way it is. There’s no changing that.” She gripped the porch railing. Beckett stepped close to Eve and tenderly tucked a lock of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. “You’re saying goodbye,” she said, her eyes full of questions. “Do you know there are other little girls out there like that one? I lived with a few of them. They would sell their souls for a mother like you.” At the word mother Eve’s chin crumpled. She tried to hold back the tears, but they wouldn’t obey. “See that? It’s what you need. You need that—a little kid calling you Mom.” Beckett put his arms around her as she shattered. The pain she kept hidden surfaced from where it had been smoldering. When he felt her knees weaken, he hugged her harder. “That’s right. It’s okay. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, baby. You want normal.” He guided her to the chair he’d vacated. “There’s a guy out there who’ll hold your hand. There’s a little girl out there. She’s waiting for you. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.” He knelt in front of her and rubbed her arms. She slapped at his hands, letting outrage carry her words. “I don’t want another man. I want you. I’ve killed for you. I’ve protected you. What the hell do you think you’re doing? Do you honestly think these hands that kill can hold a child?” She held her fingers in front of her face. “Yes. Absolutely. Don’t you know, gorgeous? Mothers are some of the most vicious killers out there, if their kids are threatened. You just have more practice.” He took her hands and kissed them. “I’ve lost too much. I can’t lose you. Don’t make me. Please. I’ll beg you if I have to.” She watched his lips on her palms. He shook his head and used her own words against her. “The hardest part of loving someone is not being with them when you want to be.” He stood, and she mirrored his motion,already shaking her head. “Don’t say it.” Beckett ignored her; he knew what he had to do. He had to set beautiful Eve free to find that soft, touchable woman he’d seen her become with the little girl.

I clutch to William’s hand. “I can do this.” He nods and pulls me tight into his arms. “I know you can. I believe in you.” I hug him tightly. I don’t want to lose this … I don’t want this to change anything; I still want to love this man when this is over. “Take care of the others.” He whispers in my ear. “I will.” He picks me up and kisses me, deeply and desperately, for a long time. When we finally release our lip lock, we’re both in tears. His voice is barely a whisper. “I love you, Alanna.” I stroke his cheek. “I love you.” It’s the first time we’ve both said it out loud at the same time. Something about that makes me feel very hopeful, despite the circumstances.

He pulled back, but only enough to lock his eyes onto mine as he held my face in his hands. “It will always be you, Cassandra,” he whispered against my lips. Then he kissed me again, much softer this time, as if gently transferring every ounce of love he had for me onto my lips. I didn’t need any words, this was all I ever needed to know that he loved me. Everything around me faded. All my worries, all my fears disappeared when he touched me. We weren’t stuck in this Hell, we weren’t even in its realm. We were in our own world, no one around to save, or to slay. God, if only we could stay here. I didn’t want to face reality, not when I had him here with me now, not after thinking I’d lost him.

Jackson…” she whispered. “I love to hear my name on your lips,” he rasped against her ear. “Say it again.” “Jackson…this isn’t another lesson…is it?” She had to know. She had to be sure. “It ought to be,” he growled. “God knows you didn’t learn the first one very well, or we wouldn’t be here together, alone.” When he lifted her onto the table, knocking off some of the books, she gasped. “I’ve never been good with lessons.” He brushed a kiss over her lips. “Perhaps you haven’t had the right teacher. Or the right lessons, my lady.” “Celia,” she countered, burying her hands in his thick, raven hair. He had the most beautiful hair, soft to the touch, with lovely waves that spilled wantonly over her fingers. “If I’m to call you Jackson, you must call me Celia.” His eyes turned molten gray as they locked with hers. “Celia,” he breathed. Then he brought his hands up to flick open the buttons of her redingote and pull out her lace tucker so he could toss it aside. She caught her breath. “Wha-What are you doing?” “Continuing your lessons.” He spread open her redingote gown to expose her undergarments. “I want to taste you. Will you let me, sweeting?” Sweeting? That alone would have softened her resolve, for no mad had ever called her such a lovely thing. But the fact that he was asking for what Ned had tried to force from her melted her resistance even further. “I’m willing to repeat a lesson as often as it takes to learn it,” she said, shocking her own boldness.

Because you deserve a duke, damn it!” A troubled expression furrowed his brow. “You deserve a man who can give you the moon. I can’t. I can give you a decent home in a decent part of town with decent people, but you…” His voice grew choked. “You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known. It destroys me to think of what you’ll have to give up to be with me.” “I told you before-I don’t care!” she said hotly. “Why can’t you believe me?” He hesitated a long moment. “The truth?” “Always.” “Because I can’t imagine why you’d want me when you have men of rank and riches at your fingertips.” She gave a rueful laugh. “You grossly exaggerate my charms, but I can’t complain. It’s one of many things I adore about you-that you see a better version of me than I ever could.” Remembering the wonderful words he’d said last night when she’d been so self-conscious, she left the bed to walk up to him. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?” His wary gaze locked with hers. “Proper Pinter. Proud Pinter.” “Yes, but that’s just who you show to the world to protect yourself.” She reached up to stroke his cheek, reveling in the ragged breath that escaped him. “When you let down your guard, however, I see Jackson-who ferrets out the truth, no matter how hard. Who risks his own life to protect the weak. Who’d sacrifice anything to prevent me from having to sacrifice everything.” Catching her hand, he halted its path. “You see a saint,” he said hoarsely. “I’m not a saint; I’m a man with needs and desires and a great many rough edges.” “I like your rough edges,” she said with a soft smile. “If I’d really wanted a man of rank and riches, I probably would have married long ago. I always told myself I couldn’t marry because no one wanted me, but the truth was, I didn’t want any of them.” She fingered a lock of hair. “Apparently I was waiting for you, rough edges and all.” His eyes turned hot with wanting. Drawing her hand to his lips, he kissed the palm so tenderly that her heart leapt into her throat. When he lifted his head, he said, “Then marry me, rough edges and all.” She swallowed. “That’s what you say now, when we’re alone and you’re caught up in-“ He covered her mouth with his, kissing her so fervently that she turned into a puddle of mush. Blast him-he always did that, too, when they were alone; it was when they were with others that he reconsidered their being together forever. And he still had said nothing of live. “That’s enough of that,” she warned, drawing back from him. “Until you make a proper proposal, before my family, you’re not sharing my bed.” “Sweeting-“ “Don’t you ‘sweeting’ me, Jackson Pinter.” She edged away from him. “I want Proper Pinter back now.” A mocking smile crossed his lips. “Sorry, love. I threw him out when I saw how he was mucking up my private life.” Love? No, she wouldn’t let that soften her. Not until she was sure he wouldn’t turn cold later. “You told Oliver you’d behave like a gentleman.” “To hell with your brother.” He stalked her with clear intent. Even as she darted behind a chair to avoid him, excitement tore through her. “Aren’t you still worried Gran will cut me off, and you’ll be saddled with a spoiled wife and not enough money to please her?” “To hell with your grandmother, too. For that matter, to hell with the money.” He tossed the chair aside as if it were so much kindling; it clattered across the floor. “It’s you I want.

Neliss, why is this rug wet?” Legna peeked around the corner to glance at the rug in question, looking as if she had never seen it before. “We have a rug there?” “Did you or did you not promise me you were not going to practice extending how long you can hold your invisible bowls of water in the house? And what on earth is that noise?” “Okay, I confess to the water thing, which was an honest mistake, I swear it. But as for a noise, I have no idea what you are talking about.” “You cannot hear that? It has been driving me crazy for days now. It just repeats over and over again, a sort of clicking sound.” “Well, it took a millennium, but you have finally gone completely senile. Listen, this is a house built by Lycanthropes. It is more a cave than a house, to be honest. I have yet to decorate to my satisfaction. There is probably some gizmo of some kind lying around, and I will come across it eventually or it will quit working the longer it is exposed to our influence. Even though I do not hear anything, I will start looking for it. Is this satisfactory?” “I swear, Magdelegna, I am never letting you visit that Druid ever again.” “Oh, stop it. You do not intimidate me, as much as you would love to think you do. Now, I will come over there if you promise not to yell at me anymore. You have been quite moody lately.” “I would be a hell of a lot less moody if I could figure out what that damn noise is.” Legna came around the corner, moving into his embrace with her hands behind her back. He immediately tried to see what she had in them. “What is that?” “Remember when you asked me why I cut my hair?” “Ah yes, the surprise. Took you long enough to get to it.” “If you do not stop, I am not going to give it to you.” “Okay. I am stopping. What is it?” She held out the box tied with a ribbon to him and he accepted it with a lopsided smile. “I do not think I even remember the last time I received a gift,” he said, leaning to kiss her cheek warmly. He changed his mind, though, and opted to go for her mouth next. She smiled beneath the cling of their lips and pushed away. “Open it.” He reached for the ribbon and soon was pulling the top off the box. “What is this?” “Gideon, what does it look like?” He picked up the woven circlet with a finger and inspected it closely. It was an intricately and meticulously fashioned necklace, clearly made strand by strand from the coffee-colored locks of his mate’s hair. In the center of the choker was a silver oval with the smallest writing he had ever seen filling it from top to bottom. “What does it say?” “It is the medics’ code of ethics,” she said softly, taking it from him and slipping behind him to link the piece around his neck beneath his hair. “And it fits perfectly.” She came around to look at it, smiling. “I knew it would look handsome on you.” “I do not usually wear jewelry or ornamentation, but . . . it feels nice. How on earth did they make this?” “Well, it took forever, if you want to know why it took so long for me to make good on the surprise. But I wanted you to have something that was a little bit of me and a little bit of you.” “I already have something like that. It is you. And . . . and me, I guess,” he laughed. “We are a little bit of each other for the rest of our lives.” “See, that makes this a perfect symbol of our love,” she said smartly, reaching up on her toes to kiss him. “Well, thank you, sweet. It is a great present and an excellent surprise. Now, if you really want to surprise me, help me find out what that noise is.

Cassandra, I can't marry you and go about business as usual the next day. Newlyweds need privacy." He had a point. But he looked so disgruntled, Cassandra couldn't resist teasing. With a glance of wide-eyed innocence, she asked, "What for?" Tom appeared increasingly flustered as he tried to come up with an explanation. Cassandra waited, gnawing on the inside of her lips. Tom's face changed as he saw the dance of laughter in her eyes. "I'll show you what for," he said, and lunged for her. Cassandra fled with a shriek, skirting nimbly around the table, but he was as fast as a leopard. After snatching her up with ease, he deposited her on the settee, and pounced. She giggled and twisted as the amorous male weight of him lowered over her. The scent of him was clean but salted with sweat, a touch of bay rum cologne sharpened with body warmth. His face was right above hers, a few locks of dark hair tumbling on his forehead. Grinning at her efforts to dislodge him, he braced his forearms on either side of her head. She'd never played with a man like this, and it was incredibly entertaining and fun, and the tiniest bit scary in a way that excited her. Her giggles collapsed slowly, like champagne froth, and she wriggled as if to twist away from him even though she had no intention of doing so. He countered by settling more heavily into the cradle of her hips, pressing her into the cushions. Even through the mass of her skirts, she felt an unfamiliar pressure of his arousal. The thick ridge fit perfectly against the juncture of her thighs, aligning intimately with her in a way that was both embarrassing and stirring. A stab of desire went through her as she realized this was how it would be... the anchoring weight of him, all hard muscle and heat... his eyes heavy-lidded and hot as he stared down at her. Dazedly she reached up and pulled his head to hers. A whimper of pleasure escaped her as he kissed her thoroughly, wringing sensation from her softness, licking deep.

I now pronounce you husband and wife. I hadn’t considered the kiss. Not once. I suppose I’d assumed it would be the way a wedding kiss should be. Restrained. Appropriate. Mild. A nice peck. Save the real kisses for later, when you’re deliciously alone. Country club girls don’t make out in front of others. Like gum chewing, it should always be done in private, where no one else can see. But Marlboro Man wasn’t a country club boy. He’d missed the memo outlining the rules and regulations of proper ways to kiss in public. I found this out when the kiss began--when he wrapped his loving, protective arms around me and kissed me like he meant it right there in my Episcopal church. Right there in front of my family, and his, in front of Father Johnson and Ms. Altar Guild and our wedding party and the entire congregation, half of whom were meeting me for the first time that night. But Marlboro Man didn’t seem to care. He kissed me exactly the way he’d kissed me the night of our first date--the night my high-heeled boot had gotten wedged in a crack in my parents’ sidewalk and had caused me to stumble. The night he’d caught me with his lips. We were making out in church--there was no way around it. And I felt every bit as swept away as I had that first night. The kiss lasted hours, days, weeks…probably ten to twelve seconds in real time, which, in a wedding ceremony setting, is a pretty long kiss. And it might have been longer had the passionate moment not been interrupted by the sudden sound of a person clapping his hands. “Woohoo! All right!” the person shouted. “Yes!” It was Mike. The congregation broke out in laughter as Marlboro Man and I touched our foreheads together, cementing the moment forever in our memory. We were one; this was tangible to me now. It wasn’t just an empty word, a theological concept, wishful thinking. It was an official, you-and-me-against-the-world designation. We’d both left our separateness behind. From that moment forward, nothing either of us did or said or planned would be in a vacuum apart from the other. No holiday would involve our celebrating separately at our respective family homes. No last-minute trips to Mexico with friends, not that either of us was prone to last-minute trips to Mexico with friends. But still. The kiss had sealed the deal in so many ways. I walked proudly out of the church, the new wife of Marlboro Man. When we exited the same doors through which my dad and I had walked thirty minutes earlier, Marlboro Man’s arm wriggled loose from my grasp and instinctively wrapped around my waist, where it belonged. The other arm followed, and before I knew it we were locked in a sweet, solidifying embrace, relishing the instant of solitude before our wedding party--sisters, cousins, brothers, friends--followed closely behind. We were married. I drew a deep, life-giving breath and exhaled. The sweating had finally stopped. And the robust air-conditioning of the church had almost completely dried my lily-white Vera.

You know what I don’t get?” “What?” Josh stares at me, his cheeks a dull red. “Why you never said anything. If all that time you felt like that about me, why didn’t you say anything?” My whole body goes stiff. I wasn’t expecting that. I’m not prepared. I swallow hard and say, “You were with Margot.” “I wasn’t always with Margot. The stuff you wrote--you liked me before I ever liked her. Why didn’t you just tell me?” I let out a breath. “What does that even matter now?” “It matters. You should have told me. You should have at least given me a chance.” “It wouldn’t have made a difference, Josh!” “And I’m telling you it would have!” He steps toward me. Jerkily I rise to my feet. Why is he bringing this up now, just when things are back to normal again? “You’re so full of it. You’ve never thought of me that way, not ever, so don’t go trying to reinvent history now when I have somebody.” “Don’t tell me what I think,” he snaps. “You don’t know my every thought, Lara Jean.” “Yes I do. I know you better than anyone. You know why? You’re predictable. Everything you do. It’s so predictable. The only reason you’re even saying this now is because you’re jealous. And it’s not even because of me. You don’t care about who I’m with. You’re just jealous that Peter took your spot. Kitty likes him better than you now too.” His face darkens. He glares at me and I glare back. “Fine!” he yells. “I’m jealous! Are you happy now?” And then he jerks his head toward mine, and he kisses me. On the lips. His eyes are closed, mine are wide open. And then mine close too, and for a second, just for a second, I kiss him back. Then I break away. I push him off. Triumphantly he says, “Did you predict that, Lara Jean?” My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. I drop the broom and run up the stairs, as fast as I can. I run all the way to my room and lock my door behind me. Josh just kissed me. In my living room. My sister is coming back in a few weeks. And I have a fake boyfriend I just cheated on.

She broke off abruptly as she heard her name being called, and glanced over her shoulder, fearing that St. Vincent had discovered her escape. Her entire body stiffened in battle readiness. But there was no sign of St. Vincent, no betraying gleam of golden-amber hair. She heard the voice again, a deep sound that penetrated to her soul. “Lillian.” Her legs quivered beneath her as she saw a lean, dark-haired man coming from the front entryway. It can’t be, she thought, blinking hard to clear her vision, which must surely have been playing tricks on her. She stumbled a little as she turned to face him. “Westcliff,” she whispered, and took a few hesitant steps forward. The rest of the room seemed to vanish. Marcus’s face was pale beneath its tan, and he stared at her with searing intensity, as if he feared she might disappear. His stride quickened, and as he reached her, she was seized and caught in a biting grip. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her hard against him. “My God,” he muttered, and buried his face in her hair. “You came,” Lillian gasped, trembling all over. “You found me.” She couldn’t conceive how it was possible. He smelled of horses and sweat, and his clothes were chilled from the outside air. Feeling her shiver, Marcus drew her tightly inside his coat, murmuring endearments against her hair. “Marcus,” Lillian said thickly. “Have I gone mad? Oh, please be real. Please don’t go away—” “I’m here.” His voice was low and shaken. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” He drew back slightly, his midnight gaze scouring her from head to toe, his hands searching urgently over her body. “My love, my own… have you been hurt?” As his fingers slid along her arm, he encountered the locked manacle. Lifting her wrist, he stared at the handcuffs blankly. He inhaled sharply, and his body began to shake with primitive fury. “G**damn it, I’ll send him to hell—” “I’m fine,” Lillian said hastily. “I haven’t been hurt.” Bringing her hand to his mouth, Marcus kissed it roughly, and kept her fingers against his cheek while his breath struck her wrist in swift repetitions. “Lillian, did he…” Reading the question in his haunted gaze, the words he couldn’t yet bring himself to voice, Lillian whispered scratchily, “No, nothing happened. There wasn’t time.” “I’m still going to kill him.” There was a deadly note in his voice that made the back of her neck crawl. Seeing the open bodice of her gown, Marcus released her long enough to pull off his coat and place it over her shoulders. He suddenly went still. “That smell… what is it?” Realizing that her skin and clothes still retained the noxious scent, Lillian hesitated before replying. “Ether,” she finally said, trying to form her trembling lips into a reassuring smile as she saw his eyes dilate into pools of black. “It wasn’t bad, actually. I’ve slept through most of the day. Other than a touch of queasiness, I’m—” An animal growl came from his throat, and he pulled her against him once more. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Lillian, my sweet love… you’re safe now. I’ll never let anything happen to you again. I swear it on my life. You’re safe.” He took her head in his hands, and his mouth slid over hers in a kiss that was brief, soft, and yet so shockingly intense that she swayed dizzily. Closing her eyes, she let herself rest against him, still fearing that none of this was real, that she would awaken to find herself with St. Vincent once more. Marcus whispered comforting words against her parted lips and cheeks, and held her with a grip that seemed gentle but could not have been broken by the combined efforts of ten men.

Her hands glided down his body and landed on his cock. Yes. Ramón cupped her face and kissed her again. Julieta pulled away and dropped to her knees in front of him. "Yeah, baby." Her hands squeezed his ass, and she pulled down his pants and his boxer briefs. Ramón had been fantasizing about this since he'd met her. He was already so hard. He couldn't wait to feel her mouth around him. She kissed around the base of his cock and licked the tip. "Stop teasing me." She licked down his length and spat on her hand before she grasped him. Ah, that felt so good. A few more kisses on the head, and he was dying with anticipation. She finally took him in her mouth. He exhaled, enjoying the moment of pleasure. Having her eyes locked on his was almost enough to send him over the edge. Her mouth was so hot. The pressure built in his balls. "That's it, baby. Don't stop. Just like that." Her head bobbed up and down, taking him deep. She created a seal with her lips. Ramón took control. He held her right where he wanted as he fucked her mouth. He thrust deeper. He was right on the edge. "I'm going to come, baby." He tried to pull away, but she wouldn't let him. She sucked him so hard, so deep. He finally let go, and she swallowed.

Then Daniel stepped forward and a trumpet sounded, followed by a drum. The dance was beginning. He took her hand. When he spoke, he spoke to her, not to the audience,as the other players did. "The fairest hand I ever touched," Daniel said. "O Beauty, till now I never knew thee." As if the lines had been written for the two of them. They began to dance,and Daniel locked eyes with her the whole time. His eyes were crystal clear and violet, and the way they never strayed from hers chipped away at Luce's heart. She knew he'd loved her always,but until this moment,dancing with him on the stage in front of all these people,she had never really thought about what it meant. It meant that when she saw him for the first time in every life,Daniel was already in love with her. Every time. And always had been. And every time, she had to fall in love with him from scratch.He could never pressure her or push her into loving him. He had to win her anew each time. Daniel's love for her was one long, uninterrupted stream.It was the purest form of love there was,purer even than the love Luce returned. His love flowed without breaking,without stopping. Whereas Luce's love was wiped clean with every death, Daniel's grew over time, across all eternity. How powerfully strong must it be by now? Hundreds of love stacked one on top of the other? It was almost too massive for Luce to comprehend. He loved her that much,and yet in every lifetime,over and over again,he had to wait for her to catch up. All this time,they had been dancing with the rest of the troupe, bounding in and out of the wings at breaks in the music,coming back onstage for more gallantry,for longer sets with more ornate steps,until the whole company was dancing. At the close of the scene,even though it wasn't in the script,even though Cam was standing right there watching,Luce held fast to Daniel's hand and pulled him to her,up against the potted orange trees.He looked at her like she was crazy and tried to tug her to the mark dictated by her stage directions. "What are you doing?" he murmured. He had doubted her before,backstage when she'd tried to speak freely about her feelings.She had to make him believe her.Especially if Lucinda died tonight,understanding the depth of her love would mean everything to him. It would help him to carry on,to keep loving her for hundreds more years, through all the pain and hardship she'd witnessed,right up to the present. Luce knew that it wasn't in the script, but she couldn't stop herself: She grabbed Daniel and she kissed him. She expected him to stop her,but instead he swooped her into his arms and kissed her back.Hard and passionately, responding with such intensity that she felt the way she did when they were flying,though she knew her feet were planted on the ground. For a moment, the audience was silent. Then they began to holler and jeer.Someone threw a shoe at Daniel, but he ignored it. His kisses told Luce that he believed her,that he understood the depth of her love,but she wanted to be absolutely sure. "I will always love you,Daniel." Only, that didn't seem quite right-or not quite enough. She had to make him understand,and damn the consequences-if she changed history,so be it. "I'll always choose you." Yes, that was the word. "Every single lifetime, I'll choose you.Just as you have always chosen me.Forever." His lips parted.Did he believe her? Did he already know? It was a choice, a long-standing, deep-seated choice that reached beyond anything else Luce was capable of.Something powerful was behind it.Something beautiful and- Shadows began to swirl in the rigging overhead. Heat quaked through her body, making her convulse,desperate for the fiery release she knew was coming. Daniel's eyes flashed with pain. "No," he whispered. "Please don't go yet." Somehow,it always took both of them by surprise.

When I burst into the terminal, my eyes swept around, bouncing from person to person in the crowded, bustling space. My stomach fell a little when I didn’t see him, but I knew he probably couldn’t come this far. He was probably at baggage claim. I looked around for a sign to point me in the right direction and finally saw one labeled Baggage Claim with an arrow pointing off to the left. But I didn’t follow the arrow. My eyes fixed on someone standing beneath the sign. His hands were jammed into the pockets of his well-worn slouchy jeans. The relaxed action pulled the waistband low, highlighting his flat, narrow waist his Henley tee molded to. As usual, he was wearing his varsity jacket and his blond hair was a mess. My gaze locked on his sapphire-blue eyes and didn’t let go. His eyes, ohmigod, his eyes. The blue was so intense it served as an emergency brake on everything in my life. The second I looked at him, everything else came to a screeching halt. I no longer noticed the huge crowd rushing around. The anxiety-causing flight was just a distant memory, and the two weeks I spent longing for his touch became something I would live through ten times over just to be in this moment with him again. His lips pulled into a smile and the charm that oozed from every pore in his body made me almost lightheaded. Romeo pulled his hands out of his pockets and straightened, motioning for me. I rushed across the space separating us, my bag slapping against my side as I, for once, gracefully maneuvered around the people in my path. His chuckle brushed over me when I was just steps away, and I threw myself at him with a little sigh of relief. My legs wrapped around his waist and his arms locked around my back. I burrowed my head into his shoulder and inhaled deep, taking in his distinctive scent. “Rim,” he murmured, his voice low. I pulled back and his lips were on mine instantly. The moment our lips touched, he stilled, his body and mouth pausing against mine. Before I could wonder why, he muttered a garbled curse against my mouth and then his lips began to move. He kissed me softly but fiercely. There was so much possession in the way he kissed me, in the way his arms locked around me that my heart stuttered. I parted my lips so his tongue could sweep inside, and when my tongue met his, desire, hot and heavy, unfurled within me. Someone chuckled as they walked by, and Romeo retreated slightly, still letting his mouth linger on mine before completely pulling away. He rested his forehead against mine and he smiled. “I really fucking missed you.” “Me too,” I whispered. -Romeo & Rimmel

In the silence that roared in her ears he moved closer. He put his hands on her imperfect throat and lifted her imperfect chin and bent his head to her flawed and trembling lips. He kissed her. And she fell in love. Helplessly; hopelessly- a consummate disaster. She felt it happen while his mouth came against hers and his gloved fingers pressed into the tender skin behind her earlobes. It was something physical, a tangible wound, a terrible rent in the fabric of her life, as if her whole self had been torn from her body and replaced by something else entirely. Something that belonged not to her but to him. To her horror, that new, helpless, slavish self answered the kiss. She parted her lips beneath the pressure of his. Her fingers gave up their vehement hold on each other; they slid part and flattened against his chest, opening and closing like a cat's paw. A little aching sound came from her throat. His hold slackened for an instant. Only an instant, and before Olympia could break away, his hands slid forward and locked together behind her nape. The warm rush of his breath touched her skin: uneven and quick as he kissed her eyes and forehead and the corners of her lips. "Princess," he whispered. "My silly princess..." She cast down her lashes. It was impossible to look at him- unbearable. A whimper of miserable joy hung in the back of her throat.

she whipped around and placed the bouquet in my hand. Looking at her crazy, I tried to hand it back but, instead, she forcefully turned me around. On his knees, there was Hood with his hand extended with a beautiful diamond ring. Dropping the flowers, tears immediately formed in my eyes as I realized what was going on. Looking around the room, I saw both my mother and father nod their heads in approval and all of our family in friends either smiling or shedding happy tears. I looked back to Hood, who was nervously smiling before he began to speak. “Rhythm, from day one, my heart’s tune changed into a beat that only you could hear. You know we’ve had our ups and we’ve had our downs, but baby, none of it would have been worth it if it was not for you. The love we share is so rare that I make sure to pray twice a day that the Lord sees fit for me to have you and hold you for the rest of my life. Baby, you a nigga heartbeat, will you be my wife?” Pausing for a moment, all the good and bad flashed through my memory before I was able to answer. I guess I was taking too long because someone in the audience yelled out, “Girl, you better tell that fine ass man yes!” and everyone started to laugh. “Yes, Hood, yes!” I yelled, as he slipped the beautiful ring on my finger before standing and grabbing me in a tight hug. Our lips locked in a passionate kiss as everyone clapped and whistled, congratulating us. “Congrats the two of you.” I felt my father’s hand on my shoulder after Hood and I let go of each other. “Thanks

Do you have vows?” Freeman asked. Zane nodded, but he didn’t move to take out a piece of paper or any notes. He licked his lips instead and took a deep breath. “Ty,” he said, and the sound was almost lost in the night. “Some roads to love aren’t easy, and I’ve never been more thankful for being forced to fight for something. I started this journey with a partner I hated, and a man in the mirror I hated even more. The road took me from the streets of New York to the mountaintops of West Virginia, from the place I born to the place I found a home. It forced me to let go of my past and face my future. And I had to be made blind before I could see.” Zane swallowed hard and looked down, obviously fighting to finish without choking on the words or tearing up. Ty realized his own eyes were burning, and it wasn’t because of the cold wind. Zane squeezed Ty’s fingers with one hand, and he met Ty’s eyes as he reached into his lapel with his other. “I promise to love you until I die,” he said, his voice strong again. He held up a Sharpie he’d had in his suit, and pulled Ty’s hand closer to draw on his ring finger. With several sweeping motions, he created an infinity sign that looped all the way around the finger. When he was satisfied with the ring he’d drawn, he kissed Ty’s knuckles and let him go, handing him the Sharpie. Ty grasped the pen, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Zane. He ran his thumb over Zane’s palm. He had a set of vows he’d jotted down on a note card, folded up in his pocket, but he left them where they were and gazed into Zane’s eyes, their past flashing in front of him, their future opening up in his mind. He took a deep breath. “I promise to never leave you alone in the dark,” he whispered. He pulled Zane’s hand closer and pressed the tip of the Sharpie against Zane’s skin, curving the symbol for forever around it. When he was satisfied, he kissed the tip of Zane’s finger and slid the pen back into his lapel pocket. Freeman coughed and turned a page in his book. “Do you, Zane Zachary Garrett, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?” Zane’s lips curved into a warm smile. “I do.” Freeman turned toward Ty. “Do you, Beaumont Tyler Grady, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?” “I do,” Ty said, almost before the question was finished. “Then by the power vested in me by the state of Maryland, I pronounce you legally wed.” Freeman slapped his little book closed. “You may now share the first kiss of the rest of your lives.” Ty had fully expected to have the urge to grab Zane and plant one on him out of sheer impatience and joy, but as he stood staring at his brand-new husband, it was as if they were moving underwater. He touched the tips of his fingers to Zane’s cheek, then stepped closer and used both hands to cup his face with the utmost care. Zane was still smiling when they kissed, and it was slow and gentle, Zane’s hands at Ty’s ribs pulling them flush. “Okay, now,” Livi whispered somewhere to their side, and a moment later they were both pelted with handfuls of heart-shaped confetti. Zane laughed and finally wrapped his arms around Ty, squeezing him tight. The others continued to toss the confetti at them, even handing out bits to people passing by so they’d be sure to get covered from all sides. They laughed into the kiss, not caring. They were still locked in their happy embrace when Deuce turned the box over above them and rained little, bitty hearts down on their heads.

Drowning in guilt and fear and desire, she tried to push his caressing hand away from her throat. His fingers delved into her hair with a grip just short of painful. His mouth was close to hers. He was surrounding her, all the strength and force and maleness of him, and she closed her eyes as her senses went quiet and dark in helpless waiting. "I'll make you tell me," she heard him mutter. And then she was kissing her. Somehow, Beatrix thought hazily, Christopher seemed to be under the impression she would find his kisses so objectionable that she would confess anything to make him desist. She couldn't think how he had come by such a notion. In fact, she couldn't really think at all. His mouth moved over hers in supple, intimate angles, until he found some perfect alignment that made her weak all over. She reached around his neck to keep from dropping bonelessly to the floor. Gathering her closer into the hard support of his body, he explored her slowly, the tip of his tongue stroking, tasting. Her body listed more heavily against his as her limbs became weighted with pleasure. She sensed the moment when his anger was eclipsed by passion, desire changing to white-hot need. Her fingers sank into his beautiful hair, the shorn locks heavy and vibrant, his scalp hot against her palms. With each inhalation, she drew in more of his fragrance, the trace of sandalwood on warm male skin. His mouth slid from hers and dragged roughly along her throat, crossing sensitive places that made her writhe. Blindly turning her face, she rubbed her lips against his ear. He drew in a sharp breath and jerked his head back. His hand came to her jaw, clamping firmly. "Tell me what you know," he said, his breath searing her lips. "Or I'll do worse than this. I'll take you here and now. Is that what you want?" As a matter of fact ...

After dinner, as we had so many times during our months and months together, Marlboro Man and I adjourned to his porch. It was dark--we’d eaten late--and despite my silent five-minute battle with the reality of my reproductive system, there was definitely something special about the night. I stood at the railing, breathing in the dewy night air and taking in all the sounds of the countryside that would one day be my home. The pumping of a distant oil well, the symphony of crickets, the occasional moo of a mama cow, the manic yipping of coyotes…the din of country life was as present and reassuring as the cacophony of car horns, traffic sounds, and sirens had been in L.A. I loved everything about it. He appeared behind me; his strong arms wrapped around my waist. Oh, it was real, all right--he was real. As I touched his forearms and ran the palms of my hands from his elbows down to his wrists, I’d never been more sure of how very real he was. Here, grasping me in his arms, was the Adonis of all the romance-novel fantasies I clearly never realized I’d been having; they’d been playing themselves out in steamy detail under the surface of my consciousness, and I never even knew I’d been missing it. I closed my eyes and rested my head back on his chest, just as his impossibly soft lips and subtle whiskers rested on my neck. Romancewise, it was perfection--the night air was still--almost imperceptible. Physically, viscerally, it was almost more than I could stand. Six babies? Sure. How ’bout seven? Is that enough? Standing there that night, I would have said eight, nine, ten. And I could have gotten started right away. But getting started would have to wait. There’d be plenty of time for that. For that night, that dark, perfect night, we simply stayed on the porch and locked ourselves in kiss after beautiful, steamy kiss. And before too long, it was impossible to tell where his arms ended and where my body began.

I opened the door with a smile on my face that soon melted when I saw his messy appearance. The doorframe held him up as he leaned all of his weight against it. Expressionless, bloodshot eyes stared back at me as he lifted his hand and ran it roughly down his unshaved face. His hair was disheveled and there was blood on the front of his shirt. Panic rose up as I took him in. I rushed to him and ran my fingers down his body, as I checked for injuries. “You’re bleeding! Oh my God, Devin! What happened? Are you OK?” “It’s not my blood,” he slurred. I took a better look at his gorgeous face. His unfocused eyes attempted to meet mine and it was then that the smell of liquor reached me. “You’re drunk?” “Abso-fucking-lutely.” He attempted to move toward me and almost fell over. I wrapped my arms around him and helped him into my apartment. Once we made it to the couch I let him collapse onto the cushion before I went straight to work on his clothes. I removed his blood-stained shirt first and threw it to the side. Quickly checked him over again just to be sure that he wasn’t injured somewhere. His skin felt cold and clammy against my fingertips. His knuckles were busted open, so I went to the bathroom and got a wet towel and the first aid kit. I cleaned his fingers then wrapped them up. I felt fingers in my hair and looked up to see a very drunk Devin staring back at me. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered as his heavy head fell against the back of my couch again. Shaking my head, I dropped onto my knees on the floor and removed his boots. Once I was done getting Devin out of his shoes, I went to the hallway closet and pulled out a blanket for him. When I got back to the couch, he was standing there looking back at me in all his tattooed, muscled glory. He was still leaning a bit to the side when his eyes locked on mine. “Come here,” he rasped. He looked as if he was about to crumble and I couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or if something was really breaking him down. “Are you OK, baby?” I asked. He closed his eyes and sighed. “I love it when you call me baby.” I went to him and he groaned as I softly ran my hands up his chest and put my arms around his neck. On my tiptoes, I softly kissed the line of his neck and his chin. “Tell me what happened, Devin.” When he finally opened his eyes, he looked at me differently. The calm and collected Devin was gone and an anxiety-ridden shell of a man stood before me. His shoulders felt tense beneath my fingers and his eyes held a crazed demeanor. “I need you, Lilly.” He captured my face softly in his hands as he slurred the words. “Please tell me what happened?” “Make it go away, baby,” he whispered as he leaned in and started to kiss me. I let him as I melted against his body. He collapsed against the couch once more, but this time he took me with him. Not once did he break our kiss, and soon, I felt his velvet tongue against mine. I kissed him back and let my fingers play in the hair at the back of his neck. He broke the kiss and started down the side of my neck. “I need you, Lilly,” he repeated against my skin. “I’m here.” I bit at my bottom lip to stop myself from moaning. “Please, just make it all go away,” he drunkenly begged. “I don’t know what’s going on, but tell me what to do to make it better. I want to make it better, Devin.” I stopped him and stared into his eyes as I waited for his response. “Don’t leave me,” he said desperately. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it better.” I wanted to cry. He looked so hurt and afraid. It was strange to see such a strong, confident man so lost and unsure. He flipped me onto my back on the couch and crawled on top of me. His movements were less calculated—slower than usual. “I want you. I need to be inside you,” he said aggressively.

Marlboro Man and I walked together to our vehicles--symbolically parked side by side in the hotel lot under a cluster of redbud trees. Sleepiness had definitely set in; my head fell on his shoulder as we walked. His ample arms gripped my waist reassuringly. And the second we reached my silver Camry, the temperature began to rise. “I can’t wait till tomorrow,” he said, backing me against the door of my car, his lips moving toward my neck. Every nerve receptor in my body simultaneously fired as his strong hands gripped the small of my back; my hands pulled him closer and closer. We kissed and kissed some more in the hotel parking lot, flirting dangerously with taking it a step--or five--further. Out-of-control prairie fires were breaking out inside my body; even my knees felt hot. I couldn’t believe this man, this Adonis who held me so completely and passionately in his arms, was actually mine. That in a mere twenty-four hours, I’d have him all to myself. It’s too good to be true, I thought as my right leg wrapped around his left and my fingers squeezed his chiseled bicep. It was as if I’d been locked inside a chocolate shop that also sold delicious chardonnay and french fries…and played Gone With the Wind and Joan Crawford movies all day long--and had been told “Have fun.” He was going to be my own private playground for the rest of my life. I almost felt guilty, like I was taking something away from the world. It was so dark outside, I forgot where I was. I had no sense of geography or time or space, not even when he took my face in his hands and touched his forehead to mine, closing his eyes, as if to savor the powerful moment. “I love you,” he whispered as I died right there on the spot. It wasn’t convenient, my dying the night before my wedding. I didn’t know how my mom was going to explain it to the florist. But she’d have to; I was totally done for. I’d had half a glass of wine all evening but felt completely inebriated. When I finally arrived home, I had no idea how I’d gotten there. I was intoxicated--drunk on a cowboy. A cowboy who, in less than twenty-four hours, would become my husband.

I'm renowned within the ton as being cool under fire- around you, I'm never cool. I'm heated- I seethe- I burn with desire. If I'm in the same room, all I can think about is heat- your heat- and how you'll feel around me." Patience felt the heat rise, a real force between them. "I've gained the reputation of being the soul of discretion- now look at me. I've seduced my godmother's niece- and been seduced by her. I share her bed openly, even under my godmother's roof." His lips twisted wryly. "So much for discretion." He drew a deep breath; his chest brushed her breasts. "And as for my vaunted, up-until-you 'legendary' control- the instant I'm inside you that evaporates like water on hot steel." What prompted her Patience never knew. His lips were so close- with her teeth, she nipped the lower. "I told you to let go- I won't break." The tension, pouring off him in waves, eased, just a little. He sighed, and rested his forehead on hers. "I don't like losing control- it's like losing myself- in you." She felt him gather himself, felt the tension swell and coalesce about them. "It's giving myself to you- so that I'm in your keeping." The words, low and gravelly, rolled through her; closing her eyes, she drew in a shallow breath. "And you don't like doing that." "I don't like it- but I crave it. I don't approve of it, yet I yearn for it." His words feathered her cheek, then his lips touched hers. "Do you understand? I haven't any choice." Patience felt his chest swell as he drew a deep breath. "I love you." She shivered, eyes shut tight, and felt the world shift about her. "Losing myself in you- giving my heart and soul into your keeping- is part of that." His lips brushed hers in an inexpressibly tender caress. "Trusting you is part of that. Telling you I love you is part of that." His lips touched hers; Patience didn't wait for more. She kissed him. Letting go of the post, she slid her hands up, framing his face, so she could let him know- let him feel- her response to all he'd said. He felt it, sensed it- and reacted; his arms locked tight about her. She couldn't breathe, but she didn't care. All she cared about was the emotion that held them, that flowed so effortlessly between them. Silver and gold, it wound about them, investing each touch with its magic. Silver and gold, it shimmered about them, and quivered in their fractured breaths. It was immediate compulsion and future promise, heavenly delight and earthly pleasure. It was here and now- and forever.

The perfect girl what can I say; to be so close yet, feel miles away. I want to run to her, but have to walk out the door going the other way. The only words spoken to her are- ‘Have a nice day.’ I think about her and the summer, and what it could have been with her. It reminds me of- sixteen, you are on my mind all the time. I think about you. It is like a vision of the stars shining, ribbon wearing, bracelet making, and holding hands forever. All the sunflowers in the hayfields and kissing in the rain, no more brick walls, no more falling teardrops of pain, and no more jigsaw puzzle pieces would remain. True love should not be such a game; does she feel the same. She is everything that I cannot have, and everything I lack. What if every day could be like this- Diamond rings, football games, and movies on the weekends? It is easy to see she belongs to me; she is everything that reminds me of ‘sixteen’ everything that is in my dreams. Everything she does is amazing, but then again, I am just speculating, and fantasizing about Nevaeh Natalie, who just turned the age of sixteen! Nevaeh- I recall my first boy kiss was not at all, what I thought it was going to be like. I was wearing a light pink dress, and flip-flops that were also pink with white daisy flowers printed on them. I loosened my ponytail and flipped out my hair until my hair dropped down my back, and around my shoulders. That gets A guy going every time, so I have read online. He was wearing ripped-up jeans and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. He said that- ‘My eyes sparkled in blue amazement, which was breathtaking, that he never saw before.’ Tell me another line… I was thinking, while Phil Collins ‘Take Me Home’ was playing in the background. I smiled at him, he began to slowly lean into me, until our lips locked. So, enjoy, he kissed me, and my heart was all aflutter. When it happened, I felt like I was floating, and my stomach had butterflies. My eyes fastened shut with no intentions of me doing so during the whole thing. When my eyes unfastened my feelings of touch engaged, and I realized that his hands are on my hips. His hands slowly moved up my waist, and my body. I was trembling from the exhilaration. Plus, one thing led to another. It was sort of my first time, kissing and playing with him you know a boy, oh yet not really, I had gotten to do some things with Chiaz before like, in class as he sat next to me. I would rub my hand on it under the desks- yeah, he liked that, and he would be. Oh, how could I forget this… there was this one time in the front seat of his Ford pickup truck, we snuck off… and this was my first true time gulping down on him, for a lack of a better term. As I had my head in his lap and was about to move up for him to go in me down there, I was about to get on top and let him in me. When we both heard her this odd, yet remarkably loud scream of bloody murder! Ava was saying- ‘You too were going to fuck! What the fuck is going on here? Anyways, Ava spotted us before he got to ‘Take me!

THE NIGHTGOWN was only the first of the garments in the box. There were seven nightgowns, in fact—one for each day of the week—of delicate silk, lovely georgette, and beautiful tiffany. As Alexandra pulled them out, she draped them on the bed. She’d never seen a nightgown that wasn’t white, but these were almond and pale blush pink, powder blue and soft peach, with delicate edgings of lace and intricate, exquisite embroidery. “They’re stunning,” she said. “Madame Rodale has nothing like them in her book of fashion plates.” Tris just grinned. He seemed different tonight. More relaxed, less worried. She didn’t know what had prompted his sudden good humor, but she didn’t want to question it. She’d rather enjoy it instead. After the afternoon she’d had—starting with Elizabeth’s letter and ending with three fruitless interviews—she wasn’t about to risk the one thing that seemed to be going right. “Are you going to try one on for me?” he asked. Her face heated. He chose a nightgown off the bed, palest lavender with black lace and violet embroidery. “This one,” he said, handing it to her. “Do you require assistance with your dress?” “Just the buttons,” she said, and turned to let him unfasten them. She shifted the nightgown in her hands. It felt so light. “There,” he said when the back of her green dress gaped open. He kissed her softly on the nape of her neck, then settled on one of the striped chairs, sipping from the glass of port he’d brought upstairs with him. “Use the dressing room. I’ll be waiting.” In the dressing room, she shakily stripped out of her frock, chemise, shoes, and stockings, then dropped the nightgown over her head and smoothed it down over her hips. The fabric whispered against her legs. She turned to see herself in the looking glass. Sweet heaven. She’d never imagined nightgowns like this existed. Her nightgowns all had high collars that tied at the throat. This one had a wide, low neckline. Her nightgowns all had long, full sleeves. This one had tiny puffed sleeves that began halfway off her shoulders. Her nightgowns were made of yards and yards of thick, billowing fabric. This one was a slender column that left no curve to the imagination. It was wicked. “Are you ready yet?” Tris called. Alexandra swallowed hard, reminding herself that he’d seen her in less clothing. And he was her husband. Still, wearing the nightgown for him somehow felt more intimate than wearing nothing at all. She was as ready as she’d ever be. Drawing a deep breath, she exited the dressing room, walked quickly through the sitting room, and paused in the bedroom’s doorway. She dropped her gaze, then raised her lashes, giving him the look—the one Juliana had said would make men fall at her feet. Judging from the expression on Tris’s face, it was a good thing he was sitting. The way he looked at her made her heartbeat accelerate. He rose and moved toward her. She met him halfway, licking suddenly dry lips. “Will you kiss me?” she asked softly, reaching up to sweep that always unruly lock off his forehead. It worked this time. He kissed her but good.

Good God, Miss Butterfield,” Lord Jarret said. “Don’t tell me you read Minerva’s Gothic horrors.” “They’re not Gothic horrors!” Maria protested. “They’re wonderful books! And yes, I’ve read every single one, more than once.” “Well, that explains a few things,” Oliver remarked. “I suppose I have my sister to thank for turning a sword on me at the brothel.” Lord Gabriel laughed. “You took a sword to old Oliver? Oh, God, that’s rich!” Lord Jarret sipped some wine. “At least the mystery of the ‘weapons at her disposal’ is now solved.” “He was misbehaving,” Maria said, with a warning glance for Oliver. Did he want them to know everything, for pity’s sake? “He left me no choice.” “Oh, Maria’s always doing things like that,” Freddy said through a mouth full of eel. “That’s why we won’t teach her to shoot. She always goes off half-cocked.” Maria thrust out her chin. “A woman has to stand up for herself.” “Hear, hear!” Lady Celia raised her goblet of wine to Maria. “Don’t mind these clod-pates. What can you expect from a group of men? They would prefer we let them run roughshod over us.” “No, we wouldn’t,” Lord Gabriel protested. “I like a woman with a little fire. Of course, I can’t speak for Oliver-“ “I assure you, I rarely feel the need to run roughshod over a woman,” Oliver drawled. An arch smile touched his lips as his gaze locked with Maria’s. “I’ve kissed one or two when they weren’t prepared for it, but every man does that.” Lady Minerva snorted. “Yes, and most of them get slapped, but not you, I expect. Even when you misbehave, you have a talent for turning ladies up sweet. How else would you go from having a sword thrust at you to gaining Miss Butterfield’s consent to be your bride-eh, Miss Butterfield?” Maria didn’t answer. Something was nagging at the back of her brain-a vaguely familiar line from one of Lady Minerva’s books: “He had a talent for turning ladies up sweet, which both thrilled and alarmed her.” “Heavens alive.” She stared at Oliver. “You’re the Marquess of Rockton!” She hardly realized she’d said it aloud until his brothers and sisters laughed. A pained look crossed Oliver’s face. “Don’t remind me.” Sparing a glare for his sister, Oliver muttered, “You have no idea how my friends revel in the fact that my sister made me a villain in her novel.” “They only revel because she made them into heroes,” Lord Jarret pointed out, eyes twinkling. “Foxmoor got quite a big head over it, and Kirkwood’s been strutting around ever since the last one came out. He loved that he got to trounce you.” “That’s because he knows he couldn’t trounce me in real life,” Oliver remarked. “Though he keeps suggesting we should have a ‘rapier duel’ to prove whether he could.” Maria stared at them agape. “Do you mean that the Viscount Churchgrove is real? And Foxmoor…great heavens, that’s Wolfplain!” “Yes.” Oliver rolled his eyes. “Churchgrove is my friend, the Viscount Kirkwood, and Wolfplain is another friend, the Duke of Foxmoor. Apparently Minerva has trouble coming up with original characters.” “You know perfectly well that I only used a version of their names,” Lady Minerva said smoothly. “The characters are my own.” “Except for you, Oliver,” Lord Jarret remarked. “You’re clearly Rockton.

Tony: Listen... I need to... Um... Say... I mean... I know we only met earlier... And I know I nearly set you on fire... And we're both going out with other people. Obviously that's quite tricky. But... Well... You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on in my entire life. I saw you and my heart leapt. You make me want to change my life. To... participate. I know it's not possible and that you have a boyfriend and we're not compatible or whatever but... I just... I know it's stupid... But maybe just hear me out for a second and the. You can tell me I'm an idiot and we'll both go back in and pretend this never happened but... I want to travel the world with you. I want to bring the ice cold Amstel to your Greek shore. And sit in silence and sip with you. I want to go to Tesco's with you of a Sunday. Watch you sleep, scrub your back, suck your toes. I want to write crap poetry about you, lay my coat over puddles for you. I want to get drunk and bore my friends about you, I want them to phone up and moan about how little they see me because I'm spending so much time with you. I want to feel the tingle of our lips meeting, the lock of our eyes joining, the fizz of our fingertips touching. I want to touch your fat tummy and tell you you look gorgeous in maternity dresses, I want to stand next to you wide-eyed and hold my nose as we open that first used nappy, I want to watch you grow old and love you more and more each day. I want to fall in love with you. I think I could. And I think it would be good. And I want you to say yes. You might feel the same. Could you? Maybe?

I didn’t know what had ignited our passion, but with my hands in Narian’s hair and our mouths moving together, I was rapidly losing my ability to think. It was afternoon, and we were in my study, the door closed but not locked, and anyone, Cokyrian or Hytanican, could walk in at any moment. Narian lifted me and set me on my desk, knocking a few papers to the floor, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. I laughed through our kiss until he was forced to come up for air. “What?” he asked, cheeks flushed, his visage happy and dazed. “What are we doing?” “I don’t know, but I’m enjoying it,” he said, caressing my neck with his lips. Despite how difficult he was making it for me to form words, I stuttered out a halfhearted objection. “Narian, you realize…we’re going to be caught.” He was breathing heavily and took a moment to answer, too busy concentrating on the hollow of my throat. “Somehow…I can’t bring myself…to care.” Still grasping his hair, I pulled his head back, kissing him once more fully on the lips. “That’s a new attitude you’ve adopted.” He laughed. “The High Priestess and Rava appear to know we’re in love, so even if we’re discovered, it won’t be much of a shock to the powers that be.” Despite his words, he practically leaped away from me when the door opened. I crossed my legs, giving him a sideways glare for leaving me sitting rather inappropriately on the edge of my desk, and he rubbed the back of his neck in sheepish apology. Of course it was Rava crossing the threshold, and she took in our postures before slamming the door, her expression particularly unpleasant. “So this is how the two of you handle the affairs of the province,” she growled.

Long minutes passed before his muscles came back to life, but when they did, he lifted his head, looked up at her dark, mesmerizing eyes, at her face flushed from her orgasm, at her skin slick with sweat. And knew from the bottom of his heart that even if she wasn’t his soul mate, she was worth living for. She was everything he was fighting for. He brushed a lock of hair away from her face then skimmed his thumb over her cheek. “I don’t deserve you.” “Gryph—” “But I want you,” he said before she could protest. “I’ll always want you. You are the heart that beats inside my chest. That gives me life.” His throat grew thick. “I love you too, Maelea. Without you, I am nothing.” Tears filled her eyes, and she kissed him. His lips, his nose, his cheeks. “Show me,” she whispered, lifting her hips and drawing him deep all over again. “One more time.” With lips that devoured hers, he did. ***

When she turned to face me, she looked up and her big blue eyes locked with mine. “You’re amazing,” she whispered. I was a little taken aback but remained quiet as I waited for an explanation. “You’re so kind and loving and are nothing like that man. I just need you to know I don’t pity you, not even in the smallest amount.” Her eyes filled with tears and my stomach tensed. “I admire you.” My own throat burned with emotion. “After everything you’ve gone through, you flipped it around and used it as motivation to do better, to be more. There is nothing about that which makes me feel sorry for you.” She rose up on her toes and placed her trembling lips to mine. “It only makes me love you more.” She kissed me again and for a moment I got lost in that kiss. Until her words registered in my mind. Pulling back from the kiss, I placed my hands on her face and held her close. “You love me?” I had to hear it again. It was as if I craved the words once she spoke them. “Yes,” she nodded. “I love you.” I could listen to her speak those three words over and over. I hadn’t realized just how much they meant until I heard them from Olivia. I closed my eyes tightly, still holding her close. I was fearful of speaking at that moment. I just needed a few seconds to breathe through it all. “Keeton, you don’t have to say…” I didn’t let her finish that sentence. I took her lips with mine and savored the taste. I couldn’t allow her to believe I didn’t feel the same thing. I slowly eased out of the kiss only long enough to say what I couldn’t say moments ago. “I love you too, Liv.” I whispered against her lips kissing her softly. “I love you too.

With a quick glance into the room, noting the inquiring faces, Lydia reached out for Robert's waistcoat and slowly pulled him into the shadows. "There is one matter that counts above all else. Do you love me?" This time, there was no hesitation. "With all my heart, until the day I die, and beyond, if there is an afterlife." A flood of relief washed over Lydia, leaving her speechless... for all of a moment. "Then, I will marry you, if you will ask." Before he had a chance to say anything, Lydia leaned forward. She wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted her mouth to his. She could feel his heart pounding out a quick-time rhythm as he slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. When their lips met, she thought her insides would melt into a puddle of ecstasy. Filled with a delicious, undefined longing, Lydia leaned in closer, wishing that she could stay locked in his arms forever. But all too soon, Robert lifted his head, taking a ragged breath. "Lydia, my dove?" "Yes, Robert?" "I have just thoroughly compromised you." "Thoroughly...what ever shall we do?" "We will have to announce our intention this very evening -- before there is any hint of a scandal." "Excellent idea. What are our intentions?" Robert chuckled and leaner over to kiss her forehead, but Lydia lifted herself up on her toes, initiating another session of excellent compromising. "Lydia, my dove?" Robert said again eventually. "Yes, Robert." "Will you grant me the great privilege of your hand in marriage?" Lydia closed her eyes and savored his proposal---the offer of a union for life. Exquisite joy, overwhelming and eternal, filled her to the brim; the sensation was so marvelous that she forgot to breathe for a time. The air around them stilled, as did Robert. He was waiting. How could he not know her answer? She had encouraged the proposal. And still he waited. Lydia opened her eyes and grinned. "I would be honored." The relief on his face nearly brought tears to her eyes. She lifted her hand and cupped his chin. "I would be honored," she repeated. "I love you so very much." As her future husband lowered his head once again, Lydia sighed dreamily. "We should go in," she whispered, tightening her hold, preventing him from going anywhere. "Absolutely," he said, nibbling at her lower lip. All thoughts of ballrooms and inquisitive glances were instantly drowned by the flow of marvelous sensations coursing through her body and a sudden desire to drag Robert deeper into the shadows. They would go back into the ballroom soon...but not yet.

I never wanted to live so much as I did right then, hanging onto that rotting timber," Nick said. "I couldn't bear the thought of never seeing you again. All I want is time with you. To spend the rest of my life with you. I don't care about anything else." Murmuring her love to him, Lottie kissed the hard silken skin of his shoulder. "Remember when I told you once that I needed to be a runner?" he asked. Lottie nodded. "You said that you were addicted to the challenge and the danger." "I'm not any longer," he said vehemently. "Thank God for that," Lottie said with a smile, lifting herself up on one elbow. "Because I have become rather addicted to you." Nick traced the moonlit curve of her back with his fingers. "And I finally know what to wish for." Puzzled, she gazed down at him while the long locks of her hair trailed over his chest and shoulders. "What?" "The wishing well," he reminded her. "Oh, yes..." Lottie lowered her face to his chest and nuzzled the soft fur, recalling that morning in the forest. "You wouldn't make a wish." "Because I didn't know what I wanted. And now I do." "What do you want?" she asked tenderly. His hand slipped behind her head, pulling her mouth down to his. "To love you forever," he whispered just before their lips met.

I want you, and you say you want me, and the only thing standing in our way is you. Don’t tell me that you survived all those battles, and suffered through so much, merely to come home for this--” He laid his fingers against her mouth. “Quiet. Let me think.” “What is there to--” “Beatrix,” he warned. She fell silent, her gaze locked on his severe features. Christopher frowned, weighing possibilities, inwardly debating the issue without seeming to come to any satisfactory conclusion. In the silence, Beatrix rested her head on his shoulder. His body was warm and comforting, the deep-flexing muscles easily accommodating her weight. She wriggled to press closer to him, until she felt the satisfying hardness of his chest against her breasts. And she adjusted her position as she felt the firm pressure of him lower down. Her body ached to gather him in. Furtively she brushed her lips against the salt-scented skin of his neck. He clamped his hand on her hip. Amusement threaded through his voice. “Stop squirming. There is no possible way a man can think when you’re doing that.” “Haven’t you finished thinking yet?” “No.” But she felt him smile as he kissed her forehead. “If you and I marry,” he said eventually, “I would be put in the position of trying to protect my wife against myself. And your well-being and happiness are everything to me.” If…Beatrix’s heart leaped into her throat. She began to speak, but Christopher nudged his knuckles beneath her chin, gently closing her mouth. “And regardless of what fascinating ideas your family may have about the marital relationship,” he continued, “I have a traditional view. The husband is master of the household.” “Oh, absolutely,” Beatrix said, a bit too quickly. “That’s what my family believes, too.” His eyes narrowed skeptically. Perhaps that had been taking it a bit far. Hoping to distract him, Beatrix nuzzled her cheek into his hand. “Could I keep my animals?” “Of course.” His voice softened. “I would never deny something so important to you. Although I can’t help but ask…is the hedgehog negotiable?” “Medusa? Oh, no, she couldn’t survive on her own. She was abandoned by her mother as kit, and I’ve taken care of her ever since. I suppose I could try to find a new home for her, but for some reason people don’t take readily to the idea of pet hedgehogs.” “How odd of them,” Christopher said. “Very well, Medusa stays.” “Are you proposing to me?” Beatrix asked hopefully. “No.” Closing his eyes, Christopher let out a short sigh. “But I’m considering it against all better judgment.

Open your eyes Harper.” The first thing I saw was his anxious expression in the mirror. He was worrying his lip waiting for my reaction. I inhaled quickly and his body locked up when I looked down to my left side. It was beautiful. There were four large orange lilies wrapped around my hip, and I couldn’t believe how amazing they looked. I stepped closer and took in the perfect shading and detail to each flower. From the sketches I’d looked at and his drawing of me, I had known Chase was amazing, but I’d never thought he could make something like this look so real. His forced swallow was audible, and I realized I still hadn’t said anything. But there were absolutely no words. First my ring, and now this? Did anything get past him? I turned to face him and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Please tell me what you’re thinking.” Unfortunately, I wasn’t. I crushed my mouth to his and he quickly deepened the kiss. Right away the other tattoo artists started hooting and yelling for us to get a room. I pulled back and knew there was nothing I could do about the deep blush on my face. Chase led me back to his table and put ointment and a wrap over my tattoo before fixing my shirt, he was all smiles. “What made you choose those?” He beamed his white smile at me, “I heard you talking to Bree and Mom about them being your favorite. And ever since that day all I’ve wanted to do was get you orange lilies, but I knew I’d probably get punched again. This was my way around it.” “It looks amazing Chase, thank you.” He shrugged, but he still couldn’t contain that smile. “I’m serious.” I grabbed his face with both hands and brought him close, “I love it, thank you.” Chase kissed me once and skimmed his nose across my cheek. “God, you’re beautiful Harper.” My phone rang then, Brandon’s name flashed on the screen. “Hey babe.” “Hey, how’s the tattoo look?” “Um, it’s not done yet, can I call you after?” “I’m going out with some buddies from high school, I’ll just talk to you tomorrow, kay? But send me a picture when it’s done. I love you.” My stomach clenched, “I love you too. Have fun tonight.” I pressed the end button and looked up at Chase’s closed off expression. “Chase –” “So you’ll need to go buy some anti-bacterial soap to clean it.” “Please talk to me.” “I’m trying. Look, here are some aftercare instructions. Don’t take the wrap off for at least an hour. If anything looks wrong give me a call.” He dropped the paper on my stomach and stepped back. “Chase!” “I have another appointment, and he’s waiting. I’ll see you later.” I looked into his guarded eyes and exhaled deeply, “What do I owe you?” “Nothing. It was a gift. But I’m busy, please go.

And tell me, when have you ever really noticed me, or where I am, or where I sit? You never look at me. You avoid me like I’m the pox!” Her volume reached new levels and she had to force herself not to yell up into his face. She spoke through her teeth to keep her voice low. “You’ve done your best to keep us safe and help me learn what I’ve needed to know about Father—and for that I will be forever grateful, but you can’t honestly pretend that you care!” Thomas captured her shoulders again and pulled her in front of him with a jerk, making her hat fall to the ground. The glowering look in his eyes simmered and Eliza turned her head away. Taking a hand from her shoulder he wrapped his strong, gentle fingers around her chin, compelling her to look at him. The low resonance in his rich voice was both imposing and tender. “I notice everything about you.” Eliza tried to pull away, her heart beating against her lungs. “I don’t believe you. You’re actions say otherwise.” Thomas huffed and glanced away before locking eyes with her again. “I’ve tried to keep away from you, to keep from developing feelings for you, Eliza. I know you have a life in Boston and I’ve only ever brought you trouble . . . but I can’t dictate my heart.” He brushed his calloused fingers against her cheek. Eliza closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his tenderness. It was too wonderful to be real. “I couldn’t bear to see you hurt again, Eliza. That’s what caused my anger. Not the fact that you went to the rally.” His honey voice softened. “If anything had happened to you, I would never have forgiven myself, and not because it’s my duty to care for you, as you think. Because I love you.” Eliza’s breath hitched, and her heart thumped at the sparkle of surprise in his eyes, as if he hadn’t meant to speak the tender words. But from the way his gaze roamed her face, it seemed he didn’t regret saying them. She looked up with parted lips, soaking in the sweet dew of his affections as he stepped closer. As if unwrapping precious china, he unwound the scarf that still circled her hair and let it drop to the ground near the hat. He smoothed his fingers around her ears, cupping her head, and directed her face toward his. All the world disappeared, the surrounding trees and shadows melting together and closing around them like a celestial dream. He stepped closer and her knees turned as weak as the wilted blades of snow-covered grass at her feet. “What are you doing?” she whispered, trembling under his touch. An unmistakable hunger swirled in his gaze, reaching out and expanding the longing of her own. The heat in his low voice stole her breath. “I’m doing what I’ve wanted to do for a very long time.” He leaned toward her, but she put a hand on his chest to stop him, her heart slamming against her ribs. His dark eyebrows crunched down. “What is it?” Eliza swallowed, trying to keep her voice even. “Last time you kissed me, you avoided me as if I were a poison. I don’t want that to happen again.” A quiet, rumbling laugh escaped him. “You are anything but a poison, Eliza.” He cradled her face in his hands, tilting it upward and nuzzled her cold nose with his. She closed her eyes and inhaled in a ragged breath as his warm lips moved across the corners of her eyes, her cheekbones, her ear. Delicious shivers sprayed down her skin and she clung to his chest to keep from falling. His hands brushed down her neck and shoulders—one resting behind her head, the other at her back, as if he wanted to keep her safely next to him forever. Dear

Mick?” she whispered. “Yeah?” “Are you feeling something?” “You could say that,” he murmured. “You?” She licked her lips and he nearly groaned. “I think so,” she whispered. “That’s good.” “Are you going to kiss me?” He cupped her face, let his thumbs trace her jawbone, his fingers sinking into her silky waves. “No,” he said quietly. “And not because I don’t want to, but because when I do, I want to know you’re ready. That you’ll feel it.” She sighed. “Guys do whatever they want all the time, no emotions necessary. I want that skill.” Another shaky breath escaped her, and since they were literally an inch apart, they shared air for a single heartbeat during which neither of them moved. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “Okay, so I’m definitely feeling things.” She hesitated and then her hands came up to his chest. “Maybe we should test it out to be sure.” God, she was the sweetest temptation he’d ever met, and he wanted nothing more than to cover her mouth with his. Instead, he brushed his mouth to her cheek. “Please, Mick,” she whispered, her exhale warming his throat. He loved the “please,” and he wanted to do just that more than anything. But when she tried to turn her head into his, to line up their mouths, he gently tightened his grip, dragging his mouth along her smooth skin instead, making his way to her ear. “Not yet,” he whispered, letting his lips brush over her earlobe and the sensitive skin beneath it. She moaned and clutched him. “Why not?” It took every ounce of control he had to lift his head and meet her gaze. “Because I want to make sure you’re really with me, that you’re feeling everything I’m feeling. That there’ll be no doubt, no regrets.” “You sure have a lot of requirements.” He laughed. And she was right, it was all big talk for a guy who didn’t do relationships anymore. Still, he forced himself to step back and shut the passenger door. As he rounded the hood to the driver’s side, he tried to remind himself of all the reasons she was a bad idea. He lived two hundred miles away and he was hoping to move his mom up by him and never come back here. Not to mention that Quinn lived an equal two hundred miles in the opposite direction and she was in a deeply vulnerable place. No way would he even think about taking advantage of that. But when he slid behind the wheel and their eyes locked, he realized that while his mind could stand firm, the rest of his body wasn’t on board with the in-control program.

Mick?” she whispered. “Yeah?” “Are you feeling something?” “You could say that,” he murmured. “You?” She licked her lips and he nearly groaned. “I think so,” she whispered. “That’s good.” “Are you going to kiss me?” He cupped her face, let his thumbs trace her jawbone, his fingers sinking into her silky waves. “No,” he said quietly. “And not because I don’t want to, but because when I do, I want to know you’re ready. That you’ll feel it.” She sighed. “Guys do whatever they want all the time, no emotions necessary. I want that skill.” Another shaky breath escaped her, and since they were literally an inch apart, they shared air for a single heartbeat during which neither of them moved. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “Okay, so I’m definitely feeling things.” She hesitated and then her hands came up to his chest. “Maybe we should test it out to be sure.” God, she was the sweetest temptation he’d ever met, and he wanted nothing more than to cover her mouth with his. Instead, he brushed his mouth to her cheek. “Please, Mick,” she whispered, her exhale warming his throat. He loved the “please,” and he wanted to do just that more than anything. But when she tried to turn her head into his, to line up their mouths, he gently tightened his grip, dragging his mouth along her smooth skin instead, making his way to her ear. “Not yet,” he whispered, letting his lips brush over her earlobe and the sensitive skin beneath it. She moaned and clutched him. “Why not?” It took every ounce of control he had to lift his head and meet her gaze. “Because I want to make sure you’re really with me, that you’re feeling everything I’m feeling. That there’ll be no doubt, no regrets.” “You sure have a lot of requirements.” He laughed. And she was right, it was all big talk for a guy who didn’t do relationships anymore. Still, he forced himself to step back and shut the passenger door. As he rounded the hood to the driver’s side, he tried to remind himself of all the reasons she was a bad idea. He lived two hundred miles away and he was hoping to move his mom up by him and never come back here. Not to mention that Quinn lived an equal two hundred miles in the opposite direction and she was in a deeply vulnerable place. No way would he even think about taking advantage of that. But when he slid behind the wheel and their eyes locked, he realized that while his mind could stand firm, the rest of his body wasn’t on board with the in-control program.

Earlier, I was sitting on a bench on the banks of the Tiber, and there were all these people there holding hands and kissing. Happy and in love. They made it seem so easy. Like giving their heart to someone else isn't the scariest thing in the world. I still don't understand that. Don't they know the power they're giving to that other person? The absolute future-forming dominion? Don't they understand how much it's going to hurt when it all goes wrong? And let's face it, ninety percent of those couples won't still be together a year from now. Even six months from now. And yet, there they are, hugging and lip-locking, completely oblivious to the pain that's coming for them. Unconcerned and trusting.

Leaning forward, he dusted a kiss over her lips, his touch light and sensuous. Her eyes closed, wonder and delight shimmering through her like faerie dust- dreams wrapping her in their silken hold. "You love me, Grace." His mouth brushed against hers. "That's what you said last night. You meant it, did you not?" Her eyes opened, locking on his. "Yes, I meant it," she said in a hushed tone. "Of course, I love you.

Taking a deep breath, Sailor decided to lay himself at her feet. "I was imagining the future and thinking of how if everything went according to plan, I'd have a very successful business with a high turnover." He made sure his hands were locked behind Ísa's back--just in case she decided to leave him in her dust a fourth time. "And since I'd be rich, I'd be able to buy houses and other nice things for my family." Ísa frowned. "I don't think your family expects that." "They don't exactly need my largess either," Sailor muttered. "But in my future fantasy, I'm buying everyone fancy cars and houses. Go with it." Ísa's lips twitched. "Okay, big spender. What else is fantasy Sailor doing?" "He's building a ginormous mansion. Swimming pool, tennis court, the works." "Is he hiring a buff personal masseuse named Sven?" "Hell no." He glared at her. "The masseuse is a fifty-year-old forner bodybuilder named Helga. Now, can I carry on?" Pretending to zip up her lips and throw away the key, Ísa made a "go on" motion. "Future Sailor is also creating a huge walk-in closet for you and filling it with designer shoes and clothes. He's giving you everything your heart desires." A flicker of darkness in Ísa's gaze, but she didn't interrupt... though her hands went still on his shoulders. "And there's a tricked-out nursery too," he added. "Plus a private playground for our rug rats." Throat moving, Ísa said, "How many?" It was a husky question. "Seven, I think." "Very funny, mister." "I'm not done." Sailor was the one who swallowed this time. "And in this fantasy house, future Sailor walks in late for dinner again because of a board meeting, and he has a gorgeous, sexy, brilliant wife and adorable children. But his redhead doesn't look at him the same anymore. And it doesn't matter how many shoes he buys her or how many necklaces he gives her, she's never again going to look at him the way she did before he stomped on her heart. Ísa's lower lip began to quiver, but she didn't speak. "I'm so sorry, baby." Sailor cupped her face, made sure she saw the sheer terror he felt at the thought of losing her. "I've been so tied to this idea of becoming a grand success that I forgot what it was all about in the first place--being there for the people I love. Sticking through the good and the bad. Never abandoning them." Silent tears rolled own Ísa's face. "But that great plan of mine?" he said, determined not to give himself any easy outs. "It'd have mean abandoning everyone. How can I be there for anyone when all I do is work? When I shove aside all other commitments? When the people I love hesitate to ask for my time because I'm too tired and too busy?" Using his thumbs, he rubbed away her tears. More splashed onto the backs of his hands, her hurt as hot as acid. "Spitfire, please," he begged, breaking. "I'll let you punch me as many times as you want if you stop crying. With a big red glove. And you can post photos online." Ísa pressed her lips together, blinked rapidly several times. And pretended to punch him with one fist, the touch a butterfly kiss. Catching her hand, he pressed his lips to it. "That's more like my Ísa." He wrapped his arms around her again. And then he told her the most important thing. "I realized that I could become a multimillionaire, but it would mean nothing if my redhead didn't look at me the way she does now, if she expected to have to take care of everything alone like she's always done--because her man was a selfish bastard who was never there." Ísa rubbed her nose against his. "You're being very hard on future Sailor," she whispered, her voice gone throaty. "That dumbass deserves it," Sailor growled. "He was going to put his desire to be a big man above his amazing, smart, loving redhead.

Aelin lifted onto her toes. She felt Rowan’s eyes on her the whole time, felt his body go still with predatory focus, as she kissed the corner of his mouth, the bow of his lips, the other corner. Soft, taunting kisses. Designed to see which one of them yielded first. Rowan did. With a sharp intake of breath, he gripped her hips, tugging her against him as he slanted his mouth over hers, deepening the kiss until her knees threatened to buckle. His tongue brushed hers—lazy, deft strokes that told her precisely what he was capable of doing elsewhere. Embers sparked in her blood, and the moss beneath them hissed as rain turned to steam. Aelin broke the kiss, breathing ragged, satisfied to find Rowan’s own chest rising and falling in an uneven rhythm. So new—this thing between them was still so new, so … raw. Utterly consuming. The desire was only the start of it. Rowan made her magic sing. And maybe that was the carranam bond between them, but … her magic wanted to dance with his. And from the frost sparkling in his eyes, she knew his own demanded the same. Rowan leaned forward until they were brow-to-brow. “Soon,” he promised, his voice rough and low. “Let’s get somewhere safe—somewhere defensible.” Because her safety always would come first. For him, keeping her protected, keeping her alive, would always come first. He’d learned it the hard way. Her heart strained, and she pulled back to lift a hand to his face. Rowan read the softness in her eyes, her body, and his own inherent fierceness slipped into a gentleness that so few would ever see. Her throat ached with the effort of keeping the words in. She’d been in love with him for a while now. Longer than she wanted to admit. She tried not to think about it, whether he felt the same. Those things—those wishes—were at the bottom of a very, very long and bloody priority list. So Aelin kissed Rowan gently, his hands again locking around her hips. “Fireheart,” he said onto her mouth. “Buzzard,” she murmured onto his. Rowan laughed, the rumble echoing in her chest.

Love offers zero guarantees. Isn’t that fucked up?” She emits a hollow laugh. “It’s a war between your survival instinct and your heart. Your survival instinct is yelling at you to ‘sit your ass down, buckle your seatbelt and put on your oxygen mask, dammit’. Meanwhile your heart is telling you to ‘jump out of the plane’, knowing fully well that there’s no parachute, knowing fully well that you have no idea where you’ll land.” She nudges her glasses to wipe a tear from her eye. “Why the hell would anyone do it?” I place my hand over hers and squeeze, getting lost in her soulful brown eyes. “Because the fall is so fucking beautiful.” Because you are so fucking beautiful. She takes a deep, shuddering breath, her eyes locked on mine. “So let’s do it,” she begs softly. “Let’s jump. Let’s fall. Together. No parachutes.” I kiss her lips and make a pledge. Two simple words. “No parachutes.

Her hands groped around his neck, her fingers lacing through the thick shorn locks at the back of his head. The hard, clean contours of Keir's face rubbed against hers, a different feeling than the coarse tickle of his beard. But the mouth was the same, full and erotic, searingly hot. He consumed her slowly, searching with his tongue, licking deep into each kiss. Wild quivers of pleasure went through her, weakening her knees until she had to lean against him to stay upright. As her head tilted back, a forgotten tear slid from the outer corner of her eye to the edge of her hairline. His lips followed the salty track, absorbing the taste. Keir cradled her cheek in his hand, his shaken whisper falling hotly against her mouth. "Merry, love... my heart's gleam, drop of my dearest blood... you should have told me." Merritt heard her own weak reply as if from a distance. "I thought... in some part of your mind... you might have wanted to forget." "No." Keir crushed her close, nuzzling her hard against her hair and disheveling the pinned-up coils. "Never, love. The memory slipped out of reach for a moment, is all." His hand coasted slowly up and down her spine. "I'm so damned sorry for the way I've been trying to keep you at a distance. I dinna know you were already inside my heart." He paused before adding wryly, "Mind, I did have to jump from a three-story window, with little to break the fall but my own hard head." Taking one of her hands, he pressed her palm over his pounding heartbeat. "But you were still in here. Your name is carved so deep, a million years could no' erase it.

We see the mortal form of the immortal healer climbing along the jutting cornice of some cliff, in search for the simples of life; and as the zephyrs waft his long ashen locks around his furrowed brow, his trembling hand clutches some rugged crag, more perhaps from joy than fear. And so, as we now open the works of Aleister Crowley, we are filled with an exhilarating chain of pangs; mortal-like we are never sated, and as our lips taste the nectar of true poetry we tremblingly clutch the crags of Parnassus in search for the Asphodel of Love, Wisdom, and Beauty. Here, as we turn some beetling height, the dying rays of the Swinburnian sun sink, those rays that ruffled the vestal purity of the clouds to the rosy blush of a lover’s kiss, and in the departing light we again find the mystic Trinity midst the hellebore and thistles of existence, enthroned, eternal. The sun sinks, and the last notes of the nightingale die into the stillness of falling night. The emerald sky like the robe of some car-borne Astarté, slashed with an infinite orange and red, fades into the sombre garment of night; and above silently breaks a primal sea gemmed with all the colours of the opal, deepening into a limitless amethyst, darkens, and the sun goes out. The spangled pall of Night is drawn, and the lull of death is o’er us; but no, hark! the distant boom of a beetle is carried across the still glowing welkin, it is the signal drum announcing the marriage of Night and Day. The crescent moon rises, diaphanous and fair, and the world wakes to a chant.

Anthony stared at her for a long moment, his eyes locking with hers until he felt they must be one person. Then, with a shaking hand, he cupped the back of her head and leaned down to kiss her. His lips worshiped hers, offering her every ounce of love and devotion and reverence and prayer that he felt in his soul.

He used his free hand to grab a hold of my chin and lift my face to his. His eyes were locked onto mine as though he had discovered the most important thing in his life. Me. “I don’t want to give you up,” he said before pressing his lips to mine. At first, I hesitated. I wanted this. I wanted him. But I knew I needed to keep my thoughts clear. Well, that and I was still fearful of allowing things between us to become much of anything more because the idea of giving him so much of myself was unsettling. I was still figuring out who I was and what I was meant to do with my life. I couldn’t be sure where I would be in two years. Even a week from now was hard to imagine. I would’ve loved to believe he would still be by my side, but life was everchanging and nothing was ever promised to us. I couldn’t stand the idea of letting him in, only to have to learn to live without him should things go wrong. The truth of it all was that I’d been on my own for so long, I had forgotten what it was like to let someone else into your world, and the idea of closing that door again? I couldn’t do it. “This should be the last thing you want,” I said. “And yet, it’s the only thing I want.” “Perhaps I’m not the only one capable of making terrible decisions then.” Drake pressed his lips to mine again, and this time, I welcomed his mouth against mine. There was an urgency in the kiss, though he made sure to keep it soft and gentle. There was no denying the fear in his movements. And that worried me. What had he intended to do that he was so scared?

The priest and his desires Not alone, but a lonely monastery priest, Resisting hard not to venture out and pursue the need for love and passion driven heist, Bound by his sanctum and religion, He tries not to give in to any seduction, Adam and Eve blamed the devil, The priest is baffled to decide who shall he blame for this evil, He rolls and turns restlessly in the bed of his desires, And every night after the Church service he deals with these raging fires, He is dressed in his black robe on the much anticipated Sunday mass, But he is distracted and sees passions and desires cast on peoples faces and even on mosaic glass, At the end of the service he serves all some fine and red wine, And when he stands face to face with a beautiful woman his inner self says “I wish you were mine!’” His Sunday night is spent in her curled hair locks, He is shackled to her beautiful face and desires that fasten around him like unbreakable locks, He often touches his cross that he wears always, Still his nights are restless and now it is so even during the sunny Spring days, He bows before the Altar and makes a solemn confession, “My Lord! her face and her overpowering beauty have become my obsession, Am I still worthy of worshipping you my God? For I have silently started worshiping this feeling of loving her and I do not feel odd, It is her thoughts that possess me even during my sermons, In her absence, not yours My Lord, everything presents itself like bad omens, To tame my wandering thoughts I refer to the Holy Book, But through it too peeps her face and her mesmerising look, I wonder if I shall quit clergy, And adopt this new synergy, I am drowning farther and farther in this mental eclipse, And I only want to think of her beautiful face, her warm skin and her red lips, Shall I forsake my black robe, My Lord, and not Thee? Or Forsake her and thereby my black robe and Thee? Because without her I do not feel anything that is a part of me, And without being me, how can I anything else be, Perhaps I am supposed to be a man of God but not a man, Never to fulfillmy own desires for I am busy fulfilling Your plan, So let me live with my state and the social taboo, While every night I place my desires in the coffin along with the happy morning cuckoo.” The Lord smiles at him, “It is your personal battle and it is grim, You desire her, her face, her charming ways, You think of her during nights and during the bountiful days, But you think of me too and that is enough for me to know, So seek her and kiss her grace, for then you shall better baptise in my glow, And before you fall too low, Rise to your calling and you shall reap as you shall sow, Whether you wear a black robe or her kisses, I shall judge you on how you made others feel with or without your kisses.” Said the Lord in His emphatic voice, And the priest stood up and made the right choice! To love the woman he loved and missed, And he felt something divine within him, whenever her deep beauty he kissed! Source of inspiration : The Thorn Birds 1983 Drama

The priest and his desires Not alone, but a lonely monastery priest, Resisting hard not to venture out and pursue the need for love and passion driven heist, Bound by his sanctum and religion, He tries hard not to give in to any form of seduction, Adam and Eve blamed the devil, The priest is baffled to decide who shall he blame for this evil? He rolls and turns restlessly in the bed of his desires, And every night after the Church service he deals with these raging fires, He is dressed in his black robe on the much anticipated Sunday mass, But he is distracted when he sees passions and desires cast on peoples faces and even on mosaic glass, At the end of the service he serves all some fine and red wine, And when he comes face to face with a beautiful woman, his inner self says “I wish you were mine!’” His Sunday night is spent in her curled hair locks, He is shackled to her beautiful face and desires that fasten around him like unbreakable locks, He often touches his cross that he wears always, Still his nights are restless and now it is so even during the sunny Spring days, He bows before the Altar and makes a solemn confession, “My Lord! her face and her overpowering beauty have become my obsession, Am I still worthy of worshipping you my God? For I have silently started worshiping this feeling of loving her and I do not feel odd, It is her thoughts that possess me even during my sermons, In her absence, not yours My Lord, everything presents itself like bad omens, To tame my wandering thoughts I refer to the Holy Book, But through it too peeps her face and her mesmerising look, I wonder if I shall quit clergy, And adopt this new synergy? I am drowning farther and farther in this mental eclipse, And I only want to think of her beautiful face, her warm skin and her red lips, Shall I forsake my black robe, My Lord, and not Thee? Or Forsake her and thereby my black robe and as well Thee? Because without her I do not feel anything that is a part of me, And without being me, how can I anything else be, Perhaps I am supposed to be a man of God but not a man, Never to fulfil my own desires for I am busy fulfilling Your plan, So let me live with my state and the social taboo, While every night I place my desires in the coffin along with the happy morning cuckoo.” The Lord smiles at him, “It is your personal battle and it is grim, You desire her, her face, her charming ways, You think of her during nights and during the bountiful days, But you think of me too and that is enough for me to know, So seek her and kiss her grace, for then you shall better baptise in my glow, And before you fall too low, Rise to your calling and you shall reap as you shall sow, Whether you wear a black robe or her kisses, I shall judge you on how you made others feel with or without your kisses.” Said the Lord in His emphatic voice, And the priest stood up and made the right choice! To love the woman he loved and missed, And he felt something divine within him, whenever her deep beauty he kissed! Source of inspiration : The Thorn Birds . 1983 Drama

As soon as I got my feet under me, indignant rage bubbled over. “Don’t ever do that again. I’m not your fucking possession,” I hissed at him. His eyes flashed. “No, you’re not my anything, are you? I’m allowed to touch you as long as I don’t act like it means something, right?” The emotion on his face twisted my insides. Anguish and despair swirled in his eyes. I turned back for the bar to escape that look, and his arms were around my shoulders in a second, locking my back against his chest. His lips went to my ear. “I can see the way you feel about me when you don’t think anyone is looking. I fucking see it, Kristen.” His voice cracked. “I remember what you said to me that night in Vegas. I remember.” All of the fight drained out of my body in an instant. He breathed into my ear. “Why won’t you just let me love you?” A sob burst from my mouth, and I went limp in his arms. He held me up, hugging me to himself, absorbing my surrender. I turned in the circle of his embrace and buried my crying in his shirt. He put his face into my neck and held me so tightly I couldn’t breathe. But I didn’t want to breathe. I wanted to be his prisoner. I wanted to never escape. Tears poured out of me. “I can’t, Josh.” I gasped into his chest. “You don’t know it all.” “Then tell me,” he said. He pulled away from me and spoke to my eyes. “What is it? Because I know you want me. I know you’re acting. Just tell me why.” How do you share something like that? How could I tell him that my body could never do the one thing he needed it to? I couldn’t. I couldn’t get the words out. I couldn’t bear to see my value drop in his eyes, see him realize I wasn’t actually what he wanted. Less of a woman. Damaged goods. Barren. Sterile. I shook my head, biting my lips together. “Josh, you should just forget about me. Get serious with one of those other women you see. Have sex with them. Move on.” He let out a puff of exasperation. “What other women? There are no other women. There never has been. Do you know what I’m doing when you think I’m on dates? I’m at home, alone, wishing I was with you. This is what you’ve made me into. I pretend to see other people because I know if I don’t, you won’t see me anymore. Why?” “You…you haven’t been seeing anyone else?” I blinked at him. “Of course not. I’m fucking in love with you.” And like he couldn’t stand not to for one more second, he grabbed me and kissed me. His lips were pained and desperate, and I hopelessly kissed him back. I climbed him, combing my hands in his hair. I wished I could drown in him. I needed to extinguish the burning disappointment in my soul, and for a few seconds, I did. And then I pushed him away. He let me go and I staggered back in the grass, and he stood there, panting. “Josh, I can’t see you anymore, okay? This is over.” I choked on the words. I watched what I said hit him like a smack. “Why?” I wiped my face with the back of my hand and blinked through the tears. “Because you’re obviously taking this way more seriously than you should be. I told you. I told you from day one that this would only ever be sex. I never lied to you.” His jaw went rigid. “You’re lying to me right now. I know this isn’t what you want. You fucking love me, Kristen. Just stop—” He reached for me and I smacked his hand away. He stood staring at me, confusion and hurt etched all over his handsome face. “Why aren’t I good enough? Is it because I don’t speak a dozen languages? I don’t have a fucking master’s degree? I don’t make enough money? What is it?” It’s not you. I let the tears run down my face, and I clutched at my facade. “You thought you could change me just like you thought you could change Celeste. You’re changing the rules, just like you did to her. Don’t put your shit on me, Josh. You said you could handle this. You said you could—” “I’m not fucking crazy! Stop acting like I’m making this up!

My lovely mortal.” Kian pressed another kiss to her lips before tilting her head to the side. “Do you know how hard it has been to resist you?” He dipped his head, kissing her jaw. “Do you know how utterly you have consumed me?” His mouth moved to her neck, trailing down, caressing her smooth flesh. “Do you understand how fiercely I have yearned for you?” When he reached the purple mark Lachlan had left, Kian had to swallow back another surge of rage. He brushed his lips over the bruise. “I would kill for you.” Willow shivered, and her fingers curled against his shoulders. “Kian…” He kissed that spot again, dabbing it with his tongue. “Anyone who hurts you will learn the meaning of pain. I will rend the flesh from their bones with claws and fangs.” He moved his mouth down and kissed the hollow at the base of her throat. Then he did the same to each of her shoulders. “And then I will tend to your every need, my Violet. Fulfill your every desire.” She released a shuddering breath. “What about your desires?” A low growl rumbled from his chest. He lifted his head, locking his gaze with hers. “You are my desire, Willow.

Taking his lips across her face, he said shit he’d never told another living person before. “Crazy about you, Aurora. You make me feral.” “You were feral long before me, baby.” She laughed, lifting her face for more of his kisses. “I love every fucking sweet inch of you, and if you think of leaving me one day, I’ll lock you up and wait until you love me back.” Maybe it was too soon to show his insane hand at this stage, but Aurora sweetly sighed and clutched him tighter, like she loved every fucked up declaration he’d given her. “Keep me then.” “I am,” he growled, locking a hand around her neck

Only devotion prevailed against the terror. Love might and must yield in flesh, but never in spirit. The mother rocked her tortured child and was afraid of nothing but to be separated from it. Husband nursed wife in secret and in secret gave a kiss to the lips that would infect him. Whole families locked and bolted themselves inside their homes and defended the privilege of dying together.

Later, as I attempted to lean over the high sides of the hospital bed to kiss David, I couldn’t reach either his forehead or his lips, so I began kissing the length of his arm. “I love you,” I told him before I was ready to leave for the night. His beautiful brown eyes locked with mine. “Thank you,” he replied simply, grabbing hold of my hand with his. I brought it to my lips in response. Thank you, as if my love were a great gift to him, when all along his love was the gift to me.

He stepped into my space, locking eyes with me, then pressed his mouth to mine. His lips were soft and firm and I breathed in sharply, tasting him. He trembled for a moment, and then my ass hit the desk as he collided with me. His hand curled around the back of my neck while the other rubbed my thigh.

I stretch and hold his hand over the table. If there is one thing I can do as his boyfriend, I want to make Ali feel less lonely. I bring his hand to my lips and kiss it gently, and he responds with his signature grin. With my disastrous love life so far, I know this is a chance for me and I want to do right by him. We gaze at each other, our eyes lock and it feels so natural and good.

He tilted her chin upward. Softly, he pressed his lips to hers. Reaching up into her bonnet, he buried one of his hands in her hair. Without breaking the embrace, she yanked the hat from her head. Luca’s grasp tightened on her hair, and pleasure raced through her body. He tried to pull her into his lap using only his good arm, but ended up half dragging her across the wooden crate. The medicinal ointments went flying onto the floor, the containers rolling across the wet stones with a clatter. Cass pulled back. She wanted to kiss him harder, to melt into his arms. “We need to go,” she said instead, raising one hand to her face to blot the sweat from her cheeks. “Once we have taken down the Order, there will be time for…everything else.” Luca started to protest, but then they heard the sound of the key in the lock and Narissa slipped into the room with a tray of food. Cass blushed furiously as she finger-combed her hair. She and Luca laughed nervously. “Breakfast. We were just commenting on how hungry we were,” Cass said brightly. Narissa surveyed the salves and ointments strewn about on the floor and Cass’s hair hanging free. Her brown eyes narrowed knowingly. “Were you now?” she asked, her voice a bit shrill. “I’ll just leave this food for you and retrieve the tray later.” She hurriedly shuffled across the room and back to the door. Cass blushed again. “Thank you, Narissa,” she said. When the handmaid closed the door, Cass and Luca both burst into giggles. Luca struggled to hold a straight face. He imitated Narissa’s nasal voice. “Signorina Cassandra,” he said. “You are a wicked and depraved woman, and I should appreciate it if you do not further sully my dusty storage room.” Cass laughed aloud. She poked Luca in his chest. “Me, wicked? You tried to attack me. I’m just your victim.” “Willing victim?” Luca looked hopefully at her. “Well,” Cass said, trying to look extra thoughtful as she positioned the food tray between the two of them. “I suppose there are a few worse ways to spend my time.” Luca’s eyes softened. “I love you, Cassandra,” he said, stroking her face gently. “And I love you,” she replied, almost without thinking. For once there was no hesitation.

He gazed down at me, his focus locked on my lips. “I don’t know whether I should resent you for making me feel again or love you for it.” Before I could respond, he continued. “Don’t say anything. I already know.” Then he kissed me.

Very slowly, he leaned toward her. He took her face between his hands. His lips were gentle, but his kiss was firm--she melted beneath it as he pressed her tight against his chest. His lips traced a shivery path to her neck and lingered at the base of her throat. His hands slid to her shoulders and down her body, an embrace both relentless and tender--burning where it touched, but never forcing, never intrusive. He whispered to her in his secret language…their lips locked in a kiss… “Miranda?” Aunt Teeta called softly. Miranda’s cry was instantly muffled beneath Etienne’s lips. Shocked, she stared at him, even as he pulled away from her, snapped off the light, and slipped out of sight beneath the covers. After a second’s hesitation, Miranda slid in beside him and yanked the bedspread up to her chin. “What?” she called back, with what she hoped was convincing grogginess. Aunt Teeta opened the door, her bathrobe askew, her hair disheveled, and several oversize curlers bobbing on top of her head. “Oh, darlin’, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think you’d be asleep yet. You know, I was just thinking--since you and Etienne have been spending so much time together, why don’t you invite him over sometime? So your mama can meet him? And ask Gage over, too--he’s such a cutie.” Miranda yawned loudly. “That’s a great idea, Aunt Teeta. Thanks a lot.” “All right now, hon, you go on back to sleep. Love you.” “Love you, too.” Miranda waited till the door closed. Till Aunt Teeta’s footsteps faded down the stairs, till the house was silent once more. She waited a long time. At last the covers moved, and Etienne, after a thorough look around, threw them back and sat up. He seemed immensely amused. “Damn, that was close. Your aunt, she woulda skinned me alive if she’d caught me here.

I'm not lovely," she blurted out. One side of his mouth kicked up. "Now, there," he said quietly, searching her face as if to memorize this new Callie, whom he'd just discovered, "I shall have to disagree." And then he set his lips to hers and she was drugged by his caress and his words, both equally intoxicating. This kiss was different from all that they had shared before- softer, seeking, as though they were both discovering something altogether new. This was a concert of stroking tongue and soft lips. Gabriel lifted his head and waited for her to open her eyes; when she did, he was struck once more by her loveliness. He searched her face, watching as she returned from the sensual place where the kiss had taken her. "You said I was plain." He shook his head slowly, marveling at the clear, brown depths of emotion in her eyes. "There is nothing plain about you." And then, he kissed her again. Her mouth was his banquet. He sipped at her lips, savoring their taste, their softness. Her hands found their way around his neck and into his hair- threading through the dark locks. The caress sent a shiver of pleasure through him. He ate at her, nibbling at her lips before gently laving the worried skin there with his tongue. When he pulled away and met her eyes once more, they were both breathing heavily, and Gabriel was wishing that they were anywhere but here, hundreds of Londoners mere feet away. He had to stop. He was about to do exactly what he had resolved not to do. Had he not promised himself that he would not compromise her again? He owed her more. Better. A vision flashed in his mind of Callie naked, spread before him in a pool of sunlight, and he pushed it aside. This was no time to indulge in fantasies that would further arouse him- as it was, his excitement was embarrassingly obvious in his breeches.

He stands, and time stops when he cups my jaw. And it’s just me and my cool dark cloud. We lock eyes for long seconds. “That’s one question I can answer,” he whispers, his eyes piercing as he leans in, “yes.” “Yes, what?” “Yes,” he strokes my face, “I’ve been in love.” The words strike hard, and I burst into tears at the sound of them. He grips me in his hold before pressing a brief kiss to my lips and pulling away. “But she went and fell in love with my brother.