Kissing Quotes

“My blood stopped at the voice that drawled from behind me.

At the scent that hit me, awoke me. My friends began smiling.

I turned.

Rhysand leaned against the archway into the sitting room, arms crossed, wings nowhere to be seen, dressed in his usual immaculate black jacket and pants.

And as those violet eyes met mine, as that familiar half smile faded...

My face crumpled. A small, broken noise cracked from me.

Rhys was instantly moving, but my legs had already given out. The foyer carpet cushioned the impact as I sank to my knees.

I covered my face with my hands while the past month crashed into me.

Rhys knelt before me, knee to knee.

Gently, he pulled my hands away from my face. Gently, he took my cheeks in his hands and brushed away my tears.

I didn't care that we had an audience as I lifted my head and beheld the joy and concern and love shining in those remarkable eyes.

Neither did Rhys as he murmured, 'My love,' and kissed me.

I'd no sooner slid my hands into his hair than he scooped me into his arms and stood in one smooth movement. I pulled my mouth from his, glancing toward a pallid Lucien, but Rhysand said to our companions without so much as looking at them, 'Go find somewhere else to be for a while.'

He didn't wait to see if they obeyed.

Rhys winnowed us up the stairs, and launched into a steady, swift walk down the hallway.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Wings and Ruin

“I lean toward him, expecting him to unconsciously move away. To be repulsed. But he only watches me curiously.

As I draw closer, his eyes widen a little.

'Wren,' he whispers. I am not sure if it's a warning or not. I hate that I don't know.

At every moment, I expect him to flinch or pull back as I put one hand on his shoulder, then go up on my toes, and kiss him.

This is ridiculous. Kissing him is profane. It gives me all the horrible satisfaction of smashing a crystal goblet.

It's quick. Just the quick press of my dry mouth against his lips. A brief senses of softness, the warmth of breath, and then I pull away, my heart thrumming with fear, with the expectation that he will be disgusted.

With the certainty that I have well and truly punished him for trying to flirt with me.

The angry, feral part of me feels so close to the surface that I can almost scent its blood-clotted fur. I want to lick the scratches I made.

He doesn't look alarmed, though. He's studying my face, as though he's trying to work something out.

After a moment, his eyes close, pale lashes against his cheek, and he dips foward to press his mouth to mine again. He goes slower, one of his hands cupping my head. A shivery feeling courses down my spine, a flush coming up on my skin.

When he draws back, he is not wearing his usual complicated smile. Instead, he looks as though someone just slapped him. I wonder if a kiss from me is like being clawed on the cheek.

Did he force himself to go through with it? For the sake of keeping me on this quest? For the sake of his father and his plans?

I thought to punish him, but all I have succeeded in doing is punishing myself.”
― Holly Black, The Stolen Heir

“What was a kiss without hands but a letter left unsigned—intentions only halfway delivered?”
― Isabel Agajanian, Modern Divination

“Oak puts his hands on my shoulders, pushing my back to the wall.

'Pretend with me,' he whispers. And then he presses his mouth to mine.

A soldier kissing one of the serving girls. A bored ex-falcon attempting to amuse himself. Oak hiding our faces, giving us a reason to be overlooked. I understand the game.

This is no declaration of desire. And yet, I am rooted in place by the shocking heat of his mouth, the softness of his lips, the way one of his hands goes to the ice wall to brace himself and the other to my waist, and then to the hilt of my knife as they draw closer.

He doesn't want me. This doesn't mean he wants me. I repeat that over and over as I let him part my lips with his tongue. I run my hands up his back under his shirt, letting my nails trail over his skin.

I have been trained in all the arts of a courtier. Dancing and duelling, kissing and deceiving.

Still, I am gratified when he shudders, when the hand he was bracing with lifts to thread through my hair, to cup my head. My mouth slides over his jaw to his throat, then against his shoulder, where I press the points of my teeth. His body stiffens, his fingers gripping me harder, pulling me closer to him. When I bite down, he gasps.”
― Holly Black, The Stolen Heir

“Cassian lay facedown on the earth.

Nesta rushed toward him,, praying, sobbing, her magic still echoing through the world.

She turned him over, searching for the knife, the wound, but-

The knife lay beneath him. Unbloodied.

He groaned, cracking his eyes open. 'I figured,' he rasped, 'I should lay low while you did that.'

Nesta gaped at him. Then burst into tears.

Cassian sat up, soothing sounds on his tongue, and took her face in his hands. 'You Unmade her.'

Nesta glanced to the Crown on the earth- the black stain where Briallyn had been. 'She had it coming.'

He chuckled, leaning his brow against hers. Nesta closed her eyes, breathing in his scent. 'You are my mate, Cassian,' she said against his lips, and kissed him softly.

'And you're mine,' he said, kissing her in turn.

And then his hands slid into her hair.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A ​Court of Silver Flames

“Everyone tensed as he leaned in, head dipping, and kissed her.

Nesta's lips were chips of ice.

But he let their coldness sting his own, and brushed his mouth against hers. Nipped at her bottom lip until he felt it drop a fraction. He slid his tongue into that opening, and found the inside of her mouth, usually so soft and warm, crusted with hoarfrost.

Nesta didn't kiss him back, but didn't shove him away. So Cassian sent his heat into it, fusing their mouths together, his free hand bracing her hip as his Siphons nipped at her hand once more.

Her mouth opened wider, and he slid his tongue over every inch- over her frozen teeth, over the roof of her mouth. Warming, softening, freeing.

Her tongue lifted to meet his in a single stroke that cracked the ice in her mouth.

He slanted his mouth over hers, tugging her against his chest, and tasted her as he'd wanted to taste her the other night, deep and thorough and claiming. Her tongue again brushed against his, and then her body was warming, and Cassian pulled back enough to say against her lips, 'Let go, Nesta.'

He drove his mouth into hers again, daring her to unleash that cold fire upon him.

Something thunked and clinked beside them.

And when Nesta's other hand gripped her shoulder, fingers now free of stones and bones, when she arched her neck, granting him better, deeper access, he nearly shuddered with relief.

She broke the kiss first, as if sliding into her body and remembering who kissed her, where they were, who watched.

Cassian opened his eyes to find her so close that they shared breath. Normal, unclouded breath. Her eyes had returned to the blue-grey he knew so well. Stunned surprise and a little fear lit her face. As if she'd never seen him before.

'Interesting,' Amren observed, and he found the female studying the map.

Feyre gaped, though, Rhys's hand gripped tight in her own. Caution blazed on Rhys's face. On Azriel's, too.

What the hell did you do to pull her out of that? Rhys asked.

Cassian didn't really know. The only thing I could think of.

You warmed the entire room.

I didn't mean to.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A ​Court of Silver Flames

“He concluded the speech with an irritated motion of his hands.
Unfortunately, Evie had been conditioned by too many encounters with Uncle Peregrine to discern between angry gestures and the beginnings of a physical attack. She flinched instinctively, her own arms flying up to shield her head. When the expected pain of a blow did not come, she let out a breath and tentatively lowered her arms to find Sebastian staring at her with blank astonishment.
Then his face went dark.
"Evie," he said, his voice containing a bladelike ferocity that frightened her. "Did you think I was about to... Christ. Someone hit you. Someone hit you in the past---who the hell was it?" He reached for her suddenly---too suddenly---and she stumbled backward, coming up hard against the wall. Sebastian went very still. "Goddamn," he whispered. Appearing to struggle with some powerful emotion, he stared at her intently. After a long moment, he spoke softly. "I would never strike a woman. I would never harm you. You know that, don't you?"
Transfixed by the light, glittering eyes that held hers with such intensity, Evie couldn't move or make a sound. She started as he approached her slowly. "It's all right," he murmured. "Let me come to you. It's all right. Easy." One of his arms slid around her, while he used his free hand to smooth her hair, and then she was breathing, sighing, as relief flowed through her. Sebastian brought her closer against him, his mouth brushing her temple. "Who was it?" he asked.
"M-my uncle," she managed to say. The motion of his hand on her back paused as he heard her stammer.
"Maybrick?" he asked patiently.
"No, th-the other one."
"Stubbins."
"Yes." Evie closed her eyes in pleasure as his other arm slid around her. Clasped against Sebastian's hard chest, with her cheek tucked against his shoulder, she inhaled the scent of clean male skin, and the subtle touch of sandalwood cologne.
"How often?" she heard him ask. "More than once?"
"I... i-it's not important now."
"How often, Evie?"
Realizing that he was going to persist until she answered, Evie muttered, "Not t-terribly often, but... sometimes when I displeased him, or Aunt Fl-Florence, he would lose his temper. The l-last time I tr-tried to run away, he blackened my eye and spl-split my lip."
"Did he?" Sebastian was silent for a long moment, and then he spoke with chilling softness. "I'm going to tear him limb from limb."
"I don't want that," Evie said earnestly. "I-I just want to be safe from him. From all of them."
Sebastian drew his head back to look down into her flushed face. "You are safe," he said in a low voice. He lifted one of his hands to her face, caressing the plane of her cheekbone, letting his fingertip follow the trail of pale golden freckles across the bridge of her nose. As her lashes fluttered downward, he stroked the slender arcs of her brows, and cradled the side of her face with his palm. "Evie," he murmured. "I swear on my life, you will never feel pain from my hands. I may prove a devil of a husband in every other regard... but I wouldn't hurt you that way. You must believe that."
The delicate nerves of her skin drank in sensations thirstily... his touch, the erotic waft of his breath against her lips. Evie was afraid to open her eyes, or to do anything that might interrupt the moment. "Yes," she managed to whisper. "Yes... I---"
There was the sweet shock of a probing kiss against her lips... another... She opened to him with a slight gasp. His mouth was hot silk and tender fire, invading her with gently questing pressure. His fingertips traced over her face, tenderly adjusting the angle between them.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Devil in Winter

“Tamlin slipped an arm around my shoulders, tucking me close to him as he rested his cheek on my head. My lips trembled, and I wrapped my arm around his waist.

We stood atop the hill in silence, until the setting sun gilded the house and the hills and the world and Lucien called us to dinner.

I stepped out of Tamlin's arms and kissed him softly. Tomorrow- there would be a tomorrow, and an eternity, to face what I had done, to face what I shredded into pieces inside myself while Under the Mountain. But for now... for today...

'Let's go home,' I said, and took his hand.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“I enjoy a man who’s kissed with a yeasty beastliness.”
― Chelsea G. Summers, A Certain Hunger

“He drew me closer, peering into me with those aforementioned eyes. “What would you say if I asked to kiss you?”

“Are you asking?” I floated above the ground, delirious with joy over his words and the earnestness in his expression.

“I am. Will you allow me to kiss you?”
― Tess Thompson, A Match for a Bookish Bride

“I followed him into the trees, through the ever-lightening world. His hand was solid and unmovable around mine as we passed through the low-lying mists, and he helped me up a bare hill slick with dew.

We sat atop its crest, and I hid my smile as Tamlin put an arm around my shoulders, tucking me in close. I rested my head against his chest, while he toyed with the flowers in my garland.

In silence, we stared out over the rolling green expanse.

The sky shifted into periwinkle, and the clouds filled with pink light. Then, like a shimmering disk too rich and clear to be described, the sun slipped over the horizon and lined everything with gold. It was like seeing the world being born, and we were the sole witnesses.

Tamlin's arm tightened around me, and he kissed the top of my head. I pulled back, looking up at him.

The gold in his eyes, bright with the rising sun, flickered. 'What?'

'My father once told me that I should let my sisters imagine a better life- a better world. And I told him that there was no such thing.' I ran my thumb over his mouth, marvelling, and shook my head. 'I never understood- because I couldn't... couldn't believe that it was even possible.' I swallowed, lowering my hand. 'Until now.'

His throat bobbed. His kiss that time was deep and thorough, unhurried and intent.

I let the dawn creep inside me, let it grow with each movement of his lips and brush of his tongue against mine. Tears pricked beneath my closed eyes.

It was the happiest moment of my life.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“How... how long do I have to go away for?'

He didn't reply.

'A week?' No answer. 'A month?' He shook his head slowly. My upper lip curled, but I forced myself in to neutrality. 'A year?' That much time away from him...

'I don't know.'

'But not forever, right?' Even if the blight spread to the Spring Court again, even if it could shred me apart... I would come back. He brushed the hair from my face. I shook him off. 'I suppose it'll be easier if I'm gone,' I said, looking away from him. 'Who wants someone around who's so covered in thorns?'

'Thorns?'

'Thorny. Prickly. Sour. Contrary.'

He leaned forward and kissed me lightly. 'Not forever,' he said onto my mouth.

And though I knew it was a lie, I put my arms around his neck and kissed him.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“My entire world constricted to the touch of his lips on my skin. Everything beyond them, beyond him, was a void of darkness and moonlight.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“He was a man who loved kissing, nearly as much as he loved the act of intercourse itself. The kiss began as a gentle brush of dry, closed lips... the pressure increasing until he had gained the soft opening of her mouth... and then she felt the subtle intrusion of his tongue. Her head tippled back helplessly in the cradle of his palms, the sudden hammering of her heart sending the blood rushing through her veins, making her feel weak and hot. He took more of her, kissing her at every possible angle, searching deeply.
One of his hands eased over her front, passing lightly over her breasts, his thumb searching in vain for the point of her nipple through the thick padding of her corset. Craving the feel of her bare skin, he moved his fingers up to her throat, stroking the rapid throb of her pulse. His mouth slid from hers and traveled along her neck until he found the tender pulse point. Evie stiffened her legs, her hands gripping his shoulders to bolster her failing balance. With a low murmur, Sebastian gathered her more firmly against his body and sought her lips again. She could no longer hold back the pleading sounds in her throat, her mouth working frantically to draw in more of his taste, more of the warm male silk of his mouth, more---
The awkward sound of someone clearing his throat caused Evie to break the kiss with a gasp. Realizing that someone had entered the main room, Sebastian pulled her head against his chest, his thumb caressing the flushed curve of her cheek.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Devil in Winter

“Our tongues danced- not a waltz of a minuet, but a war dance, a death dance of bone drums and screaming fiddles.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“What the perrk is kissing?”
“It is a human custom, and it is none of your business.”
― Lily Mayne, Lor

“Feyre,' he said against my lips, my name like a prayer more devout than any Ianthe had offered up to the Cauldron on that dark Solstice morning.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“I missed you,' he said between kisses. 'I went out of my mind.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“You’ve got to learn how to kiss like that,” she said. “What teeth!” She’d meant to say technique, but “teeth” was an equally good choice of word.
“And you are an excellent judge of kissing, are you?” he said, glancing at her, his voice flat.
“A better judge than you,” said Katyani.”
― Rati Mehrotra, Night of the Raven, Dawn of the Dove

“I spun around, and now heat throbbed all through me from my chest down between my legs, because we were front to front, and my eyes met his with a spark that sizzled, and his voice was husky as he said, "We might die in here."
There are worse places to die, I thought, nestled against his chest, and then I said it out loud. I could feel rather than hear his laugh. And then I was looking up at him, and he was looking down at me, and he asked the question with his eyes, and I answered it, and he bent down, and I lifted my chin and then we were kissing.
Kissing. I was kissing Bennett.
His lips were soft against mine at first, gentle, exploring. But I craved more. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer, kissed him harder, parted my lips and let his tongue slip inside.
I was kissing Bennett.
He made a little noise deep in his throat, a growl or a purr, as he slid his hands down my body to my waist. They touched the exposed slice of skin between my blouse and skirt and God that flash of tingly heat made me gasp. Made me want more. Made me want him.
"Julie." My name was a plea. I answered him with another kiss, curled myself into him so tight I didn't know if I'd be able to untangle myself from his warm skin and soft curls and the gentle flex of his biceps as he held tight to me.
I didn't want to, though. I wanted to wrinkle that pressed button-down, slip my hand beneath it and trace the divot running down his back, bite his earlobe and feel him shiver.”
― Amanda Elliot, Best Served Hot

“And suddenly he was by my side and I was standing and he was ducking down to kiss me. Our lips met with a gentle thrill down the back of my neck. This wasn't a fiery kiss, one that foretold clothes tearing and fuck mes. It was a soft kiss, a sweet kiss, one that brought with it promises of waking up next to each other every morning and him bringing me chicken soup when I was sick and me slowly stealing all of his hoodies because they smelled like him.
I pulled away and nestled my cheek into his shoulder. He leaned his head down and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Does this mean you're my boyfriend now? However high school that sounds."
"It means I'm your boyfriend," he said. "Does it mean you're my girlfriend? Do you want me to write a note where you can check off the yes or no box?"
This next kiss melted me. Now came the clothes tearing, the sweeping of plastic plates off the table, the gasping as he bent over me and I but his earlobe and he groaned into the curve of my neck.
Who needed pastries? This was better than any dessert.”
― Amanda Elliot, Best Served Hot

“It was a small magic, he'd once told me, to keep the damper on who he was, what his power looked like.

As the full majesty of him was unleashed, he filled the room, the world, my soul, with glittering ebony power. Stars and wind and shadows; peace and dreams and the honed edge of nightmares. Darkness rippled from him like tendrils of steam as he reached out a hand and laid it flat against the glowing skin of my stomach.

The hand of night splayed, the light leaking through the wafting shadows, and I hoisted myself up on my elbows to kiss him.

Smoke and mist and dew.

I moaned at the taste of him, and he opened his mouth for me, letting me brush my tongue against his, scrape it against his teeth. Everything he was had been laid before me- one final question.

I wanted it all.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“Rhys pressed a kiss to my hair. 'You're home.'

A shuddering, small sound came out of me as I nodded, squeezing him tighter. Home. Not just Velaris, but wherever he was, our family was.

Ebony claws stroked along the barrier in my mind- in affection and request.

I lowed my shields for him, just as his own dropped. His mind curled around mine, as surely as his body now held me.

'I missed you every moment, ' Rhys said, leaning down to kiss the corner of my mouth. 'Your smile.' His lips grazed over the shell of my ear and my back arched slightly. 'Your laugh.' He pressed a kiss to my neck, right beneath my ear, and I titled my head to give him access, biting down the urge to beg him to take more, to take faster as he murmured, 'Your scent.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Wings and Ruin

“Rhys kissed the top of my head, and we stared at the dying stars in silence.

'I'm grateful,' he said after a while, as the camp beneath us stirred in the building light. 'To have you at my side. I don't know if I ever told you that- how grateful I am to have you stand with me.'

I blinked back the burning in my eyes and took his hand. I laid it over my heart, letting him feel its beating while I kissed him one final time, the last of the stars vanishing as the army below us awoke to do battle.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Wings and Ruin

“His lips touched hers, just a brush, once, twice, over the full softness of her lovely mouth, discovering what she knew of kissing. With devastating instinct, she echoed him, dragging her lips softly across his, with his, until the desire in him was coiled so tightly his limbs trembled from it.
"Susannah." A ragged whisper. She sighed a warm breath out against his lips and brought her other hand up to hold his face; in her hands he could feel her tension and urgency. And he'd meant to linger over this kiss, to take it deeper with delicacy and finesse, and then to end it, but he found he could not. His desire was suddenly untenable; he was convinced only the taste of her could ease it. He touched an impatient tongue to her lips and coaxed them open. When she parted her mouth he sought her tongue, and discovered, with a low sound in the back of his throat, the hot, silken sweetness inside her mouth. Her tongue tentatively moved, tangled with his. Oh, God.
"Like this?" she whispered.
"God, yes," he breathed.
She smiled against his mouth.
"No smiling," he murmured. "Only kissing."
Their mouths moved languidly over each other at first, nipping, delving deeply, retreating. And gradually it built to urgency. He rose up over her to take his kisses deeper still, to taste the contours of her mouth, teeth clashing against her teeth, and still it never seemed enough. The sensation was like soaring in place; Kit couldn't feel the ground beneath him, or the air above him; he was aware only of the sweetness of the woman joined with him, and distantly he marveled, he'd never felt quite so lost. He tucked his hip in firmly against hers, astounded at how painfully aroused he was.
"Sweet," he murmured, moving his lips from hers to kiss, to nip beneath her chin, to draw his tongue down the cord of her throat. Her breathing was rushed, and with the rise and fall of her chest he could see the tight darkness of her nipples beneath the fine fabric of her dress. "Sweet," he sighed again, moving his mouth to breathe against her breast; he touched his tongue to her nipple through the fabric. She caught her breath at the sensation, arced up a little to meet him. And as she did, his fingers, five feathers, began to stroke the tender skin inside her thigh.”
― Julie Anne Long, Beauty and the Spy

“Stockings, but no drawers?" he teased, breathlessly. He nudged the neckline of her gown lower with his teeth, exposing her breast, distracting her as his hand glided farther up her thigh, to come gently to rest against the damp, silken curls at the crook of them.
"Too warm for... drawers... but I liked the... garters..." She gasped out the words, and he gave a short laugh before he took her nipple into his mouth. Puckered velvet, it was, the palest, most delicate pink, like her lips; her breast could fill the palm of his hand. He knew because he skimmed his palm over the other one.
"Kit," she rasped. "God."
"One and the same," he murmured. He heard her gasp something, either a tortured laugh or a word, which may have been "beast," but she stopped abruptly when he took her nipple into his mouth again and drew slow circles around it with his tongue. Her softly sighed, "oh," her back arching up to meet him, her fingers combing over his head, made him wilder than he thought he could bear.
But he would bear it. Today was for her, and today was all there would be.
He settled for tucking his hips closer to her, his aching erection brushing against her. His fingers stroked lightly over the curls between her legs, twining in them. And then he returned his lips to hers, gently, because he wanted to watch her eyes when he slid a finger lightly along her cleft.
He felt her body go taut when he did; she drew in a sharp breath.
His hand stilled. "No?" he said softly.
"Yes," she disagreed on a whisper, touching his face.
He kissed her softly, as his finger slid lightly again, and then again, and at last her legs slipped open wider still, inviting him in. Desire clawed him, a great bird of prey clinging to his back, he could scarcely breathe. With his fingers, he circled her gently, slowly at first, and then insistently, listening to the pulse of her breath, to her soft murmurs, to learn the rhythm she wanted, until her desire drenched his fingers. He touched nearly chaste kisses to her mouth as his fingers played over her, and watched, triumphant, as her pupils grew large, her beautiful, complicated eyes opaque, her breathing become a quiet storm.
"Kit?" she whispered urgently. "I---it's---"
"I know," he sympathized hoarsely. "Move with me now."
And she began to move her hips in time with his knowing fingers, colluding with him in her own pleasure, and he moved his own hips against her, craving his own release even as he knew he must deny it. He covered her moth with a kiss, a deep kiss, tangling his tongue with hers, and oh the taste of her: honey and velvet, rich as plums. He moved his fingers in time with his tongue, knew by her escalating breathing, the rhythm of her hips, that it would be soon.
She took her lips from his, her head thrashed to one side. "Please..."
"Hold on to me, Susannah." She was utterly focused on her journey now, and God, how he wanted to go there with her.
At last, her fingers dug into his arms and she bowed up with a soft cry, pulsing against his hand.
And somehow, this seemed nearly as precious as the beat of her heart, and the pleasure he took in her release was so acute it might well have been his own.”
― Julie Anne Long, Beauty and the Spy

“Susannah, listen to me: Do you want this to be over? Do you want to be safe?"
"No, I rather enjoy dodging for my life, and wondering when you'll next be stabbed or crushed on my behalf."
He smiled again, pleased with her the way he always was when she was sarcastic.
"How can you smile?" she wanted to know, irritated.
"You forget, my dear, that danger has been a way of life for me."
She pondered this. "Wouldn't you rather just be a naturalist?" she said weakly.
He didn't answer; he just looked at her for a long moment. And then he leaned forward and touched his mouth to hers.
Her lips were obstinate at first, but then they softened beneath his, and her hand went up to cup his face--- he loved it when she did that---and she parted her lips. For a short, dizzying moment, they feasted tenderly on each other. It was incomparably sweet.”
― Julie Anne Long, Beauty and the Spy

“Nesta braced her hands on the arms of his chair as she brushed a kiss to his neck.

Cassian's breath caught. But she pressed another kiss to the soft warm skin of his neck, just beneath his ear. Another, lower now, closer to the collar of his dark shirt.

He trembled, and she kissed the hard knot in the centre of his throat. Licked it.

Cassian shifted in his chair, groaning softly. His hand rose to clasp her hip, as if he'd push her away, but she removed him. 'Let me,' she said against his neck. 'Please.'

He swallowed, and that hard knot moved against her mouth. But he didn't stop her, and so Nesta kissed him again, moving to the other side of his neck. Reaching that spot just beneath his ear as she laid a hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat hammering into her palm.

She didn't kiss his mouth. She didn't want that distraction. Not as she slid between him and the table and dropped to her knees.

His eyes went wide. 'Nesta.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A ​Court of Silver Flames

“She smiled at me with those brilliant sparkling eyes, the kind that draw you in, that take part of your soul. Her lips twitched halfway, egging me on to kiss her and complete the smile.
The smile was completed. We did not leave that parking lot for a while.”
― Finn Eccleston, The Community: A Funny and Disturbing Conspiracy Mystery Novel

“What do we do now?” I asked.
“We keep you safe,” he said, kissing the top of my head.
I didn't understand everything that was going on in this strange town. I
had no idea if the picture he'd drawn would really come true. But I knew he
wouldn't lie to me. And I knew that he would be there for me. Some wall
between us had come crashing down.
There in his arms, I felt safer than I ever dreamed I could.”
― Sarra Cannon, Beautiful Demons