“I turned to him and kissed him, slowly lingeringly, my hands running over the hard, smooth curves and angles of his body. It wasn't that first kiss so many months before. This one was big and complicated and full of colours and textures. It held stories in it, and memories, and that made it even better.”

“It wasn't the sort of kiss I'd had with him before, hungry, wanting, desperate. It wasn't the sort of kiss I'd had with anyone before. This kiss was so soft that it was like a memory of a kiss, so careful on my lips that it was like someone running his fingers along them.”

“She opened her mouth to answer, but he was already kissing her. She had kissed him so many times—soft gentle kisses, hard and desperate ones, brief brushes of the lips that said good-bye, and kisses that seemed to go on for hours—and this was no different. The way the memory of someone who had once lived in a house might linger even after they were gone, like a sort of psychicimprint,herbody rememberedJace.Remembered the way he tasted, the slant of his mouth over hers, his scars under her fingers, the shape of his body under her hands.”

“I trace the lines of his tattoos in a way that I know distracts him. I run my hands over his smooth, warm skin. I kiss him now, making him breathless. I lie there listening to his heart beat and I’m still so hungry for him. I feel more alive than ever.”

“He turned her in his arms and kissed her. His hands were full of woman as she wrapped herself around his body so tight they were melded together from shoulders to hip. But her kisses…they stole his breath with their hunger for him.”

“I tried to curl around him, holding him with my arching body. His mouth was slow and searching, the kisses hard at first, then loosening as if unraveling from their own heat. The pleasure thickened, hard flushes rising through me, bringing the desire to full-slip ripeness.”