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

Chapter 34: 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.

My heels reunited with the ground, forcing us apart. The kiss only lasted a couple seconds but that didn't stop my heart from slamming away, a sledgehammer trapped behind my ribcage.

Peter stared down at me, unblinking. He opened his mouth, throat working as if to speak, then closed it. The only sound audible in the room was the pounding of my own heart. That wide-eyed stare bore a hole through me, plowing through my courage and filling it with sinking disappointment.

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

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

My frantic backpedalling ceased the moment he surged forward, seizing my nape and crushing our lips together.

The second his mouth was on mine, every insecure thought evaporated, and I was back in the sky. A deep-throated whine erupted from my throat as I melted into the kiss, the uncertainty slipping away like oil off water. Our mouths slotted together, moving with fervor. The kiss was messy, rough, and everything that I imagined that it would be. Every minute of the years spent wanting this fucking man poured out of me like a tsunami.

We moved against one another in a fevered frenzy, our teeth clacking together almost painfully in our rush to devour the other. It a kiss fueled by desperation and heartbreak and it only got worse when he latched onto my hips, that larger body forcibly crowding me against the wall. I didn't even try to stop him, the padded cushions sinking into my back, a thirst I'd never known seizing me.

Raking my fingers through silky hair, everything else fell by the wayside. The interrogations. The tests. The pain. All of it faded away. It was like coming out of a bad dream and realizing that you were safe. Home.

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 people wrote about in sonnets and tragedies. The type men go to war for.

Kissing Peter Ducane was utterly devastating.

Hauling me up by the backs of my thighs, Peter hoisted me into his arms, slotting us together. We fit against one another so right, like a missing puzzle piece finally gliding into place. The kiss shifted away from desperate to down-right filthy, my ankles locking around his lower back. Drawing his lower lip into my mouth, I bit down earning a low moan from him. It was a hungry, lustful, possessive sound that I would be replaying on repeat for the rest of my fucking life.

Nipping his lip again, I smirked against his mouth when that low, approving growl thundered in his chest. I had less than a second to gloat.