sorcery of myth

I looked up, and all I saw was Jamie. A shock of dark hair falling into startlingly blue eyes framed by long, long lashes. He was so close, I could feel each puff of breath as he exhaled, a warm caress in the cold air. I tilted my head up to his, our noses nearly touching. I could hear his heart beat—or maybe it was mine—a gentle thud, thud in the otherwise silent night. Soft as a feather, he brushed his lips against mine, cold and cool, a whisper of a kiss.

I draw him deeper into my arms, knowing this is it—the last time I will lose myself and find myself at the same time— in this boy who shows me the stars, even when there is only darkness. His eyes open, and I can’t look away. We kiss this way, once, twice. He tips his head, and our foreheads press together. His eyes are a storm of emotion—passion, anguish. Love.

It’s my first breath of air in six weeks. We kiss desperately, struggling through the gap over the center console and tumbling into the backseat, my wound screaming in protest as it scrapes across the rough upholstery. Sebastian’s shirt pops a stitch as we fight it over his head, and then I lose myself in the thrill of being with him again. The night is a hunter, stalking us with realities we still have to face—Sebastian’s parents, his friends, my friends—but we forget them all, clinging to each other and finding the rhythms I’d once thought were gone for good. Reality can wait.

Her fingers followed the arch of his throat, running slowly upward, over his jaw, across his cheekbones. 

He dropped the lute and stepped in close. So close, Asha could almost taste the salt on his skin. 

He dug his fingers into her hair and tilted her head back. And then, with his eyes burning into hers, he kissed her. Gently at first. Then harder. Like he was hungry and Asha was the only one who could satisfy his craving. 

Asha grabbed the collar of his shirt and kissed him back, hungrier and clumsier than he was. Torwin grabbed her waist, pulling her to him.

She didn't let him finish. She couldn't. In one smooth, sudden swoop, she lifted her face to his and kissed him. His lips, impossibly soft, brushed blissfully against hers. Then his hands were on her waist, her fingers were in his hair, and they were exploring one another, tenderly and urgently. 

They didn't part until Chiara was dizzy. 

"What did you want to tell me?" she whispered. 

Domenico took a deep breath. "The thing is," he said, "I love you."

Her hands fisted in the material of Julian's jacket, dragging him toward her, closer, closer. There was sugar and caffeine on his lips. He tasted like energy. Her hands slid under his shirt, touching the bare skin of his back, and he broke away from her yo suck in his breath. His eyes were closed, lips parted. 

"Emma," he breathed, and the desire in his voice tore a scorching path through her. When he reached for her, she almost fell against him. He swiveled her body around, pushing her back against a pillar, his body a strong, hot line against hers—

When their lips met, the fizzing in her brain got even louder. He tasted malty, like the beer he’d been drinking. His beard felt rough, but his lips were velvety soft. Gentle as a whisper. 

She wasn’t prepared for it to feel so good. Usually, when she kissed someone it was fine. Not unpleasant, but not all that exciting either. Usually, it was easy for her to stop kissing someone. 

Kissing Jonathan wasn’t like that. It was magnetic. Addictive. It made her want to kiss him even more. It made her want to kiss him a lot more, like a junkie itching for another hit.

Wesley covers the length of the room in less than a second. He pulls me toward him and kisses me, and he’s such a crazy, blow-my-socks-right-off amazingly good kisser that I practically melt into the floor. 

I can’t even believe this is happening. 

I am kissing Wesley James. 

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The balloon falls to the floor and my hands find their way to his shaggy blond hair, which is even softer than I imagined it would be. Wesley’s hands are sliding up my back, bringing me closer, until there’s no space left between us. We are all over each other and there is nothing “nice” about it, no wondering if this is right or if I like him. There is no thinking at all, just fireworks. 

Everything—everything—about this moment is perfect. And, like all the best things in life, absolutely worth waiting for.

His smile broke into a grin as he took my face in his cold-chapped hands and brought his mouth down to mine.

A star burst inside my chest at the contact. I was surprised at the intensity of it; how he kissed me without hesitation or fear, with purpose. As if it'd been something he'd wanted to do all along. As if he knew how this was supposed to go.

"Again," I whispered, pulling his mouth to mine. [His] fingers dragged over my cheeks. touching me like he was learning me, like he was desperate. 

I understood. I felt it, too.

He crushed me against the wall, and I let him. His hips pressed into my stomach and his hands cradled my face and somehow it still wasn't enough. I pushed against him, fingers digging into his shoulders because my legs were gone.

"Grace..." My name sounded painful in his mouth, and I knew I must be a horrible person because it made me smile. I could get used to that. He made me powerful.

Bronwyn leans forward and brings her lips to my ear. She’s so close I can feel her heart beating when she whispers, “I promise not to murder you.”

“That’s hot.” I mean it as a joke, but my voice comes out like a growl and when her lips part I kiss her before she can laugh. A shock of energy shoots through me as I cup her face in my hands, my fingers grasping her cheeks and the line of her jaw. It must be the adrenaline that’s making my heart pound so fast. The whole nobody-else-could-possibly-understand-this bond. Or maybe it’s her soft lips and green apple–scented hair, and the way she winds her arms around my neck like she can’t stand to let go. Either way I keep kissing her as long as she lets me, and when she steps away I try to pull her back because it wasn’t enough.

All I can think about is his nearness, his dark eyes, his breath stirring against my skin. There is a spark in his gaze now, that darkening of his eyes, something fiery and hungry, something that wants. He hesitates for an agonizing second. Then, his head tilts down toward me. The soft skin of his lips press against mine, and before I can even register it, he's kissing me

My eyes flutter closed. He's gentle at first, his emotions restrained and searching, one of his hands coming up to carefully cup my face. I lean into his touch, signaling to him that I want more, fantasizing about what he might do next. 

His eyes shine like silver coins. “How can you think I don’t care?” he says, holding my hand flat to his chest, atop his racing heart. “I care so much it hurts, right here, all the time.”

And then he’s kissing me, rashly, feverishly, insistently.

We stumble across my room until we’re a knot of limbs before my bed. He kicks off his shoes and falls onto my mattress, pulling me down beside him. Our kisses build, deep and eager, until he breaks away to pull his shirt off. I run my hands along the plane of his stomach, and across his strong shoulders. He hovers above me, working my top up and over my head, and I arch my back to help. His touch, his muffled sounds, the way his skin tastes equally salty and sweet—he’s all I can think about, all I can focus on.

Then I lean into him and stretch up onto my toes, sliding one hand up his arm to curl around the back of his neck and pull him down into a kiss.

For an instant, there is no portal. There’s no Liz, no armed crew ready to kill us, no loved ones waiting for us on Earth. He’s motionless for a heartbeat. Then he slides his arm around the small of my back and pulls me in against him, our bodies colliding and robbing me of breath.

His other hand cups my cheek, as gentle as his embrace is fierce, and my skin burns where his fingers rest. I meant to shock him, distract him, interrupt his frozen indecision—and instead I’m the one who’s melting, my body fitted against him, my lips parting with his, a heat washing over me so intense I have to break away or else catch fire...

“Can I try something?” she asked. The words spoken aloud helped drown out her inner voice. 

James looked at her. His face was serious when he answered, “Anything.”  

Her fingers fumbled for his shoulder, and she angled him toward her. He looked confusedly at her, but then Dee rose on the tips of her toes. She grabbed his jacket in her fist. 

When she kissed him, his mouth tasted of rainwater, fresh and sharp, and the heat of his mouth was a startling contrast to the chill along her skin. He made a soft sound of surprise, but then a groan rose in his chest. 

This was nothing like their first kiss—all hesitancy and fumbling attraction. It was raw and needy, a desperate desire for reassurance before stepping off a ledge into the unknown. His left hand, the one not holding the umbrella, found the small of her back and pulled her closer. He felt sturdy, warm, and solid. She tried to draw some of his wild courage into herself, and he responded in kind, his lips moving hungrily against hers. It was heady, this knowledge that he wanted her, that he had seen all of her broken edges and still thought her desirable. 

When they parted, their breath fogged the air beneath the umbrella. James looked slightly dazed and a flush crept along his cheeks. 

“I just wanted to try that,” she said, “in case we both die horribly tonight.”

Ignited, I cradle Thaelan’s face between my hands and kiss him the way I’ve never let myself kiss him before: full of hunger and greed and hope, all the virtue in me and all the vice, balanced on my lips. 

And he wants both sides of me.

And that’s what happened. His mouth became that flint, and I became kindling, smoking and sizzling. I arched into his chest, allowing him, telling him yes and yes and yes. 

“Flare,” he said against the painted symbols. 

Then he kissed me there, his mouth drawing my skin between his lips. I ignited, the flame bursting where he tasted me, and then lower, lower, lower in my belly, into that spot that I’d discovered hours ago.

My lips parted, a soundless moan toppling out of me. Jeryn shuddered, somehow knowing or feeling it in my hands as they rushed up the back of his head, mussing the roots and clinging for support. His kisses dragged to the glen between my collarbones, careful and agonizing. Another kiss there, and another kiss into the crook of my neck, and then his tongue slipped out to join his mouth.

Leaning over, not speaking, he brought his mouth to hers. For a wild moment she wondered if he wanted her. Her and not just this. 

At first, the kiss seemed part of the night and the dancing, full of dreamy madness. Jack kissed her as though he only could reassure himself she was awake and okay so long as they were touching. He kissed her as though he thought she’d turn to smoke the moment he stopped.

My hands found his chest. It was just about the hardest thing I’d ever done not to reach up and kiss him. 

And then it wasn’t, because I was doing it. I was stretching up on my tiptoes and pulling him closer, and he responded so quickly, I knew he’d been about to do it himself if I hadn’t. There was no should-we, shouldn’t-we, no trying to pull away, no trying to stop. 

That kiss for the Circle hadn’t counted. This, as far as my body could tell, was the second time we’d ever kissed. More deliberate than the first time. Much more complicated. 

I wasn’t sure who led us to stumble across the room and onto the stiff sofa, and it didn’t matter. I didn’t know how I ended up with my knees on either side of his hips, my hands running through his hair, damp and smelling of unfamiliar soap.