Page 58 of Lost in the Moonlight

He fisted my hair, angling our mouths so he could discover every corner and savor every drop. He dragged me closer until we became one. No longer two beings. No longer two souls. Just one heartbeat. One gasping breath. One hot, fiery touch.

It was like standing in the middle of a flame and watching the world burn around you, knowing there’d be nothing left when it was over and not caring. Rejoicing in it instead.

Never in my wildest dreams had I considered a kiss could be like this.

A beginning and an end.

He shifted our bodies, lifting me onto his counter, fingers digging into my hips, and then soothing the pain. All the while, his lips and tongue did things to me, to my soul, that I could only describe as magic.

Pure enchantment.

He groaned, whispering throatily, “I knew it. I knew you’d taste just like you smell. Toasted butter and sugar. Cotton candy. Addiction.” And then he devoured me all over again. As if he’d never get enough. As if he was afraid I’d disappear.

I answered each move with my own desperate ones, needing this to continue forever. Needing to live in this moment permanently so I’d never have to step outside of the heaven we were creating. My hands slid under his sweater, smooth skin hitting my palms and radiating a heat that made me shiver. The very best kind of tremors. Nothing scary. Nothing dreadful. Glory. Pure splendor.

The hand he had fisted in my hair dragged my head backward, exposing my neck. His blue eyes were midnight skies as they drank me in from my flushed cheeks to my wet, bruised mouth. His breathing was as ragged as mine, warm air escaping those divine lips. I needed them back on me. I neededto keep the gates of heaven sealed around us so I wouldn’t think. Wouldn’t doubt. Wouldn’t fear. My legs circled his waist, drawing him in. Rubbing our centers together. Molten lava spread through me at the motion, at the pure rawness of it.

“Kiss me again, Lincoln. Kiss me and make me believe in your fate and your angels.”

And he did, lips searing into me. Tongue branding me. The moan that escaped me was needy and full of pleasure. His groan echoed it. His mouth slid over my jaw, onto my neck, sucking at the pulse point. It thudded wildly, as if my veins wanted to feel his kisses as much as my skin did. As if they were jealous to be inside my body instead of out.

His hands tugged at the hem of my T-shirt, and it was gone, flung from my body before I could even register we’d broken apart. Then, his hands and mouth were on me once more, showering needy kisses along my collarbone, my shoulder, and the swell of my breast.

My legs flexed. My core clenched.

No wonder people ended up pregnant. Because this enormous passion, this enormous, painful longing, demanded to be quenched. Needed an outlet. It commanded my body to find release. No other rational thought existed. Just the hunger and need.

He unsnapped my bra, and the sound registered in the haze just before his hands and those glorious demanding lips covered my breasts, sending all thought spiraling away again. My palms landed on the cool granite as my body arched into him, into the feel of burning…of being consumed.

“More,” I heard myself murmur, not even sure I knew what I meant. Not even sure I knew how to make it happen. I moved my hips, rubbing against the hard length of him covered in denim.

Aching longing filled me.

He squeezed one tip as his tongue and teeth dragged on the other.

My entire being convulsed. Soul. Body. Mind. Pleasure ripped through me in ways I’d never experienced with my own hands and certainly never allowed a man close enough to cause.

The air filled with a sound I thought vaguely was me chanting his name as my body shook from the release.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he said, throaty and deep.

His lips returned to mine, and the hunger was still there, but I sensed immediately that he was slowing us down. He turned the desperate plunder into lazy sips and sucks while all I wanted was to continue to live in the wild, white cloud of passion.

His mouth left mine completely, arms banding around me tightly, securing me to him even as I felt him letting go. My brain finally registered what we must look like. My naked chest pushed into his sweater, my skirt hiked up with my legs around his waist, and my breath coming in pants.

Embarrassment crept in amongst the lust.

He’d kissed me, and I’d gone at him like a person deprived.

It was exactly what I’d been for so many years. Deprived of human connection. The Viceroys had taken this from me, not only because of the fear I lived with but because I wasn’t able to get tested for the FFI. If none of that had happened, and I’d had access to a genetic test, and Lincoln was standing before me, I’d dive in with full steam and never look back.

But that wasn’t the case.

So, I’d take this moment—this wonderful, amazing, skin-tingling moment—and add it to my list of joyous experiences.

I pushed against his chest and the steel band of his arms, but his forehead landed in the crook of my neck.

His voice was raspy, hoarse and sexy as he said, “Don’t. Just stop moving for a second.”

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