You should be kissed and often and by someone who knows how. ~ Rhett Butler, “Gone With the Wind”
Today – Get Kissed Often as HerStoryCalls bloggers/writers share with you the first kiss from one of their novels……….
Excerpt from “Return to Angels Cove”. Natalie is running from an abusive relationship. She’s made a new life for herself and guilty about running away, is unsure whether or not she deserves good things in her new life.
“What? Do I have sauce on my face or what?” She brushed at her cheeks with the towel she pulled from the waist of her worn jeans. Jonathan rose from his chair and said,”Here, let me help you.” He dropped the towel to the floor and grasped Natalie’s face gently between his hands. He tilted her face up to his and brushed his lips against hers, ever so softly. He drew back slightly and looked down at her lowered lashes. He leaned forward again pressing his lips against hers brushing his tongue against her lower lip. He felt a spark begin low in his belly and he drove his lips to hers a third time, demanding more, hoping for her total surrender.
Natalie sighed into the first sweet kiss and felt the ember of desire spark to life low in her core. She’d been attracted to men in the past, she had needed them too, but she had never wanted a man the way the waves of desire for this man rolled over her. She came alive with the wanting of him. Her arms snaked up around his neck and pulled him into her hot embrace. He slipped his arms down her sides and up the back of her slender form. His hands roamed freely over her body while she clung to him in desire. He slid his hand below the waist of her worn tight jeans and pulled her closer to him, grinding her to him. Finally the kiss ended and they broke apart, gasping and flushed with desire.
Here’s an excerpt from my medieval romance, The Angel’s Assassin – coming soon!
She moved to sit up, but he caught her cheek in his palm, stilling the movement.
For a moment, there was hesitancy in her eyes, wariness. Then, she closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against his hand, nuzzling it.
He was lost in those lips, in the feel of her warm skin against his palm and he wondered what it might be like to wake up with such a beauty in his arms every morning.
He shook himself firmly of such thoughts, a dark scowl sweeping over his brow. Those thoughts were madness. He needed focus. “Why didn’t you run?”
Aurora scanned his face in a silent caress. “I could not leave you.”
Damien growled low in his throat. She put herself in danger because of him…to save him. Perhaps the only person in his entire life who wanted to save him. Every single other one would have left him to die. He was not worth saving. He could never hold even the tiniest of sparks to her radiance, her goodness. And still, she stared at him with such wonder and kindness and relief. He could not resist her. Not a moment longer. He curved a hand at the nape of her neck and pulled her to him, fiercely claiming her lips, wanting…needing to touch her. He pressed his hot lips against hers, sliding over her wet coolness. God’s blood, even now, half poisoned and recovering his strength he grew hard for her.
A whimper escaped her lips and Damien wasn’t sure whether it was desire or protest. He loosened his grip on her, not wanting to punish or hurt, only wanting to drink of her nectar, her kindness, to absorb some of it into his black soul. Maybe then…maybe then he would be worth saving.
She pulled back and there was a pout to her thoroughly kissed lips.
He saw the unease edging her eyes, the concern. He had frightened her. She, the one woman in the entire world he didn’t want to scare. The look in her eyes saddened him and he looked away.
The words from the darkness of his dream came to him. She will see you for the ugliness you have in your soul one day and she will turn her back on you. The memory caused great concern and dissension. Did she remember what he had done to the assassin? The violence? The blood. Had it tainted her?
He did not want her to look at him with fear, but he had known one day she would. One day she must. But not so early. Not so soon.
Aurora climbed to her feet.
“Where is my sword?” Damien demanded, searching the forest floor. He could not look at her.
“Here.” It had been hidden beneath the flare of her dress when she was lying down.
Damien nodded in satisfaction. He picked it up, pausing as he looked into her eyes. They sparkled a pale blue in the moonlight.
Aurora stared at him for a long, pensive moment. Then, her eyes lowered in thought until they reached his thigh where they lingered. The furrows of her brow deepened. “How do you feel?” she asked.
“Well enough to see you back to your castle.” He sheathed his weapon and took a step toward Acquitaine.
“Damien,” she called.
He hesitated. He didn’t want her to fear him. Would she condemn him now for his violence? The silence stretched. Finally, he turned to her and his breath caught in his throat.
She stood in middle of the forest, bathed in a pool of moonlight. Her blonde hair, loose from any constraints, fell to her waist in thick waves. Her back was straight, her tiny body alluring and curvy and delectable. But it was her eyes that captured his attention. He saw no fear in her eyes. It was concern. Had he mistaken fear for concern?
Damien had never felt such an overwhelming need for anything in his life. He trembled with his want of her.
A swirl of emotions played over her face. Concern, regret, helplessness.
It took all of Damien’s willpower not to go to her and sweep her into his embrace. He didn’t want to scare her. He didn’t want to harm her. He didn’t want to taint her.
“I will never leave you,” she finally confessed and tears entered her eyes.
Ainsley rubbed her nose against the soft fur of his chest and breathed deeply. He took a deep breath and sighed against the top of her head, raising her eyes towards his they studied each other in a sleep-hazed gaze. He brushed the hair from her face and cupped her cheek with his large hand. She relished in the warmth of his embrace and allowed herself to feel this physical confirmation of life.
His dark musky eyes studied her, meeting her stare with a look of longing she’d not seen before. Lowering his head he brushed his lips against her brow, her eyes slid closed. She liked when he kissed her forehead, it was reassuring and non-threatening. He paused and tilted her head towards his, like satin against bare skin, his lips glided over hers. Unconsciously Ainsley arched towards him, needing more, savoring the feel of his warm body against hers.
He groaned, his arms tightening around her waist to hold her firmly against him. Nudging her nose upwards with his, he pressed his lips to hers again. This time she reacted to his caress and met him half way.
Roderick’s tongue touched the edge of her bottom lip, she gasped at the delicious sensations that spread through her body. Heat flared in her stomach and ticked with things unfamiliar and unknown. Opening her mouth to him, he took quick possession and slid his tongue against hers.
Lost in this touch so foreign and wonderful she mimicked his motion and tentatively brushed her tongue against his. A moan bubbled from his chest, and he tightened his grip on her. His reaction flared the flames in her belly and she felt more confident. Giving up her inhibitions and fears, she returned his kiss.
Sliding her hand across his chest, she reached his neck and pulled him closer. Reveling in the heat of his body and the passion in his blood, she’d never in her life felt so content and alive. Twining her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, she felt the silkiness of his midnight mane under her palm.
With a growl he tore his mouth away from her, his forehead coming to rest against hers, his chest heaving hard, his fingers that cupped her head and tangled in her long tresses shook. His eyes pinched in tension as he tried to regain control.
Ainsley slowly released her grip on his hair and slid her hands down his thick shoulders. “Roderick,” she croaked, voice unsteady and heart beating wildly.
Excerpt from: Survival of the Fittest – one of my first manuscripts ever finished.
Summer’s Unpublished Novel
I’m so excited sharing this first kiss excerpt from my historical novel, A Duke Will Do. The Duke of Montrose and Margaret McNaughton are locked in a root cellar during a ball. Cloaked in darkness they fight their attraction as they grow closer seeking an escape. The problem…Margaret needs the Duke to save her clan. The Duke…doesn’t care…about anything.
“How do you occupy your time?”
“That’s what you want to be known for?” Margaret’s incredulous exclaim almost made him wince. “You’re fine with the label of a drunkard?”
“What are you? My conscience?” He growled and searched his pockets again. There had to be something in there in which to strangle the chit. To hush her silky voice. “Forgive me, but I’m not one of your people. I don’t want nor wish to be saved.”
“No, you want people to think you’re a rake and nothing matters but a good time. You don’t want the responsibility of anything to tie you down.” Her soft husky voice was a shard of reason running down his spine, cutting like a sword. He hated the feeling as much as the next question. “Why?”
Why should she care how he was remembered? He didn’t. The war changed him, hardened him in ways inconceivable. Nothing mattered.
He was nothing. Not now.
Margaret didn’t deserve an answer. He grunted.
Her touch, a hesitant brush on the back of his hand was like a fire hot brand. With a hiss he jerked away biting his lip once again glad of the darkness.
She sighed, clicking her tongue.
Making tight fists he moved away from her. He sat with his back against the dirt wall willing the coldness to seep through his jacket and cool him down. When she made that noise again with her tongue he clenched his teeth hoping he could dissapear. That she’d disappaear.
“I don’t care what anyone thinks.” The words sounded convincing to him.
She gave a tiny snort as if she knew. Knew he lied.
How dare she! She would not weasel her way past his nonexistent principles and spark long dead scruples. He was happy the way he was. Happy not caring. Not knowing what was whispered behind his back. The process to drown his problems away in hard liquor had taken a long time. He wouldn’t resurface because he felt a twinge of lust for this redheaded minx. She couldn’t bring them back in one night with one touch.
“Then why did you go out of your way to help me.”
“Oh, no. Oh, no, you don’t.” He scrambled to his knees and grabbed her shoulders. “Don’t you dare try to place me as your rescuer. I followed you out here to do the same thing as Hensley.”
“Then why haven’t you? Taken advantage of me?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Monty leaned forward and silenced her with his mouth. She needed to be taught a lesson.
Dear Lord, Monty tasted of cigars and whiskey, and pure sin.
The lightning touch of his caress was hard, hot, and made her ache in ways she never thought possible. Her body craved something she couldn’t name and for once in her life she felt desirable, wild and perhaps a tad wanton. Her instant judgment of acting reckless didn’t consume her. Not as much as his touch did.
Margaret should resist him. She really should. Or at least put up some sort of fight to protect her virtue.
Instead, she raised her arms, slid them inside his jacket and wrapped them around his wonderfully broad back.
“That’s it,” he growled in sexy encouragement. His big callused hands bunched deeper into her skirts as he pulled her up on to her knees and closer to him so their bodies were in line with one another. The touch of his solid thighs against her middle made her knees quake causing her to grip tighter else she’d fall over. The supple muscles of his back rippled under her hands as she spanned her fingers out.
He answered with a swipe of his tongue along the seam of her lips.
Indulgence slithered through her like a decadent pastry lathered in cream and she opened her mouth answering his passion. The treat of this kiss was her compensation. After such a disastrous evening, something good had to happen.
Her worries could wait. This man couldn’t.