Setting Fire to the Stars (a MM Sci-Fi Romance)

Chapter 33: Six

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Lauren
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Have you ever experienced the feeling of falling from really high up? I had never been skydiving, but I'd read articles about it. Popular opinion stated that the first jump was always the most memorable—a once-in-a-lifetime feeling. The intense fear, mixed with the exhilaration of free fall, created the perfect cocktail of an adrenaline high.

That was what it felt like to kiss Peter Ducane.

It was over quickly, my heels reuniting the ground, removing my lips from his. It more of a peck than anything, but that didn't stop my heart from doing little flip-flops.

Peter stared down at me with a bewildered expression, unblinking with his jaw slack. The only sounds audible in the room was the pounding of my own rapid heartbeat. His wide-eyed stare burned a hole through me, quickly swallowing my courage and replacing it with a sinking feeling.

Had I read the situation all wrong? Was what we shared that night at the Foundry a mistake?

"I . . ," I stammered, shrinking back a step. "I'm . . . okay, look, I know I shouldn't have—"

Before I could continue my frantic backpedalling, he seized my nape and crushed our lips together.

The second his mouth was on mine, every insecure thought evaporated, the hesitancy sliding off my shoulders like water. Closing any distance between us, I found myself back in the sky. I moaned into him, a fire igniting in my belly before I pressed firmly into the kiss with my own desire. Our meeting of lips was messy, sloppy, and everything that I imagined that it would be. And it was warm. So fucking warm.

We moved against one another in a fevered frenzy, teeth clacking almost painfully in our rush but neither of us cared enough to stop. Grabbing either side of my hips, he crowded me against the wall. All that raw power, all that strength, was used to pull me against him. Raking my fingers through his silky hair, everything else fell away. I melted against him like I was freezing and he was the sun. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

A low, approving groan rumbled through his chest, hands digging into the flesh of my waist. His fingers skimmed under my waistband and my back arched off the wall, connecting us from chest to hip.

Yep. I knew it. Kissing Peter Ducane was utterly intoxicating. Butterflies erupted as heat tickled my cheeks.

This . . . this was what a real kiss felt like? How the hell had I gone this long without knowing this? I'd been through a couple of wishy-washy exes, but nothing and no one held a candle to this.

This, this, this. This was the kind of kiss that poets wrote about in sonnets and tragedies. The type men go to war for.

My breathing hitched when he lifted me, my ankles locking around his waist. My back met the padded wall before his mouth attacked mine once again, swallowing my surprised yelp as it transformed into a moan of pleasure. Thrilling little zings of heat shot down to my growing arousal when our bodies realigned. Tentatively, I sucked his lower lip into my mouth, earning another gutteral groam from him. It was a hungry, possessive sound, one I wanted to hear over and over.

My lashes fluttered when he angled my head and delved his tongue into my mouth. His pelvis connected with mine, pinning me in place as he licked and nipped.