“You're lips are bloody.' He seized my face in both hands and kissed me. It's hard not to respond when a master of the art of kissing is laying one on you.”

“It's hard not to respond when a master of the art of kissing is laying one on you.”

“My face is in his hands and my lips are at his lips and he's kissing me and I'm oxygen and he's dying to breathe.”

“Look at me and tell me you don't want me to kiss you. Tell me you don't like it when I do this," he said, running his hand down my arm. "Tell me you don't like it when I touch your face." HE brushed his hands on both of my cheeks, moving up to my forehead and then back down. HE rubbed both thumbs over my lips. "Tell me you don't like it when I do this." He leaned hisjead closer, stopping just short of my lips. "Tell me to stop and I will. You're in charge, Missy.”

“He reels me in, cups my face with both hands, and becomes my whole world. This is a kiss--maybe the last one we'll ever know, so we stay there forever, warm and safe. When he pulls away, something is lost. I think it's my heart.”

“He let his guitar swing behind him and cupped my face with his hand. "I love you, Grace Taylor." It barely came out above a whisper from his lips but it echoed throught the microphone. And then he kissed me. In front of everyone, he kissed me. A slow, deep kiss that sent heat from my lips to every other surface of my skin, and completely an utterly set me on fire.”