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“I sent a quick text to Adrian: I have a hickey! You can’t ever kiss me again. I honestly hadn’t expected him to be awake this early, so I was surprised to get a response: Okay. I won’t kiss you on your neck again.

So typical of him. No! You can’t ever kiss me ANYWHERE. You said you were going to keep your distance.

I’m trying, he wrote back. But you won’t keep your distance from me.

I didn’t dignify that with a response.”
― Richelle Mead, The Indigo Spell

“He’d moved toward me again. His hands released mine and moved to my waist, and I noticed I wasn’t the only one breathing heavily. He pulled me to him, bringing our bodies together. The world was all heat and electricity, thick with tension that was only one spark away from exploding around us. I was balancing on another precipice, which wasn’t easy to do in heels. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and this time I was the one who drew him closer.”
― Richelle Mead, The Indigo Spell

“I wasn’t aware of just how close he’d moved to me until now. So many details came into focus. The shape of his lips, the line of his neck. “I’m not dangerous,â€� I breathed.

He brought his face toward mine. “You are to me.�

And somehow, against all reason, we were kissing. I closed my eyes, and the world around me faded. The noise, the smoke . . . it was gone. All that mattered was the taste of his mouth, a mix of cloves and mints. There was a fierceness in his kiss, a desperation . . . and I answered, just as hungry for him. I didn’t stop him when he pulled me closer, so that I almost sat on his lap. I’d never been wrapped around someone’s body like that, and I was shocked at how eagerly mine responded. His arm went around my waist, pulling me onto him further, and his other hand slid up the back of my neck, getting entangled in my hair. He took his lips away from my mouth, gently trailing kisses down to my neck. I tipped my head back, gasping when the intensity returned to his mouth. There was an animalistic quality that sent shock waves through the rest of my body.”
― Richelle Mead, The Indigo Spell

“I pushed passed him. He grabbed my hand and swung me back towards him. Then he pushed me against the wall and... he kissed me.
He ran his thumb along my jawline and down my throat, hips pinning me to the wall. He kissed me slowly and with intensity, and once I got over the mind-numbing shock and comprehended what was actually happening, it was incredible. I had never been kissed like that before. We melted together. Every movement of mine was somehow perfectly mirrored by his. My heart was pounding so hard I knew he must be able to feel it and I was sure my legs were giving way, but he held me up, pushed me harder against the wall.
I grabbed a handful of his hair, remembering all the times I'd dreamed of doing it. I let my hand drift down his back and pulled him even closer to me. It all happened so quickly. I heard him make a low kind of growl and lean into me. His hand slid down my leg behind my knee, drawing it to him. I moaned and felt him tense.”
― Jessica Shirvington, Embrace

“Could the two people who are making out please be quiet?" the Colonel asked loudly from his sleeping bag. "Those of us who are not making out are drunk and tired.”
― John Green, Looking for Alaska

“God, you're so sweet.â€� He holds my face in his hands and kisses me deeply. I slowly unzip his hoodie and touch a hand to his bare chest. I relish in the feel of it. Barely an hour ago I was admiring it from afar, and now it's no longer just a tease. When I slide my hand down to his stomach, he groans and his hands slip just under my shirt. “So that's why you didn't want to change.â€� I can feel his smile against my lips. “You just wanted me to take your clothes off for you.â€�

“Guilty.� I lift my arms for him to pull it off. Instead of returning to kissing me, his eyes roam down my body. I fight the urge to cover myself; even though my bra is still on, I feel exposed. His hands lightly touch each side along the seam. My breath catches in my throat.

Meeting my eyes, he says, “You're so damn beautiful.â€� He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss in between my breasts. I shiver at the light touch of his lips to my sensitive skin. If this is how he makes me feel with such little contact, then how will the rest of this feel? The need is building inside like a spark starting a fire.”
― Lilly Avalon, Here All Along

“Watching a make-out while wrapped in a blanket with a guy she wanted to make out with made her feel exposed. Obvious. Transparent. Like her thoughts were flashing before his eyes.
Finally Brett managed to pull away without consent of Bekka's lips. The confusion created a sloppy bite-a-juicy-peach sound. Everyone cringed.”
― Lisi Harrison, Monster High

“Making love is not something you do to someone―it's something you share. Lovemaking between men and women should be mutually pleasurably. Both women and men should be fully and completely satisfied.”
― J.F. Kelly, A Woman's Pleasure

“I'm willing to find out what this thing is going on between us. Are you?"
"If we weren't outside," he says, "I'd show you--"
I cut him off by grabbing the thick hair at the base of his neck and pulling that gorgeous head of his down. If we can't exactly have privacy right now, I'll settle for being real. Besides, everyone who we need to keep this a secret from is in school.
Alex keeps his hands at his side, but when I part my lips, he groans against my mouth and his wrench drops to the ground with a loud clink.
His strong hands wrap around me, making me feel protected. His velvet tongue mingles with mine, creating an unfamiliar melting sensation deep within my body. This is more than making out, it's . . . well, it feels like a lot more.
His hands never stop moving; one circles my back while the other plays with my hair.
Alex isn't the only one exploring. My hands are roving all over him, feeling his muscles tense beneath my hands and heightening my awareness of him. I touch his jaw and the roughness of a day's growth scratches my skin”
― Simone Elkeles, Perfect Chemistry

“Every person has the right to be loved in the way she/he wants to be loved. Making love is not something you do to someone; making love is something you share.”
― J.F. Kelly, A Woman's Pleasure

“We kiss for a long time, a good long time. I don’t even notice that it’s cold and I forget to be afraid because that’s just how good a kisser he is. His lips move above my lips. My lips ache for the touch of him, the softness of his skin. We keep kissing. My hands wrap themselves in his hair. His hand presses me close into him, as close as I can be against him, and he is solid, strong, amazing. My hands leave his hair and journey down to the sides of his face, still tingling.
“We should keep going,� he says, voice gruff and husky again. I love when his voice sounds like that, deeper than normal. His lips puff out a little more, too. “You’re blushing.�
I pull my lips in against each other like I’m still trying to taste him. I move my snowshoes off of his snowshoes. It’s tricky.
“You’re a good kisser,� I say.
“So are you.”
― Carrie Jones, Need

“Their mouths crashed together. Tongues tangled. He kissed her as if he wanted to consume her, devour her alive. Fierce kisses, hard kisses, desperate, wanting kisses. He tasted like chocolate and smelled like sin.
"Sam..." She pulled away. "I can't breathe."
"Neither can I." Her wrapped his arms around her and drew her in for another hungry kiss. Hot, hard, and wet, melting her to the side of the Jeep. His tongue worked past her lips to plunge into her mouth, every stroke tugging at things low and deep in her belly.
Her hands moved to his chest, sliding over his pecs and the ripple of abs beneath his shirt. Harman was perfect but Sam was real, his body hard from his fight training, muscles thick from use. He hissed out a breath when her fingers grazed the top of his belt, his infamous self-control giving way to her curious hands.
"What are we doing?" he murmured as he drew her earlobe into his mouth, his five-o'clock shadow rough against her sensitive skin.
"I don't know, but don't stop."
"No chance of that." He shifted against her, his arousal as evident from his ragged breaths as the growing hardness pressed against her hips.
When he thrust a thick thigh between her legs, she rocked against him, reckless and wanton in her need for release. She was dying, burning, her body on fire. She'd never felt anything like the toxic combination of anger and lust that pounded through her veins. It made her head spin, drove logic away.”
― Sara Desai, The Marriage Game

“There were groans---his---and moans---hers---and cool hands under his shirt, nails scraping against his skin, zings of electricity along his nerves, clothes tearing...
"Not here." Her words. Because if he had his way, she'd already be naked and the limo driver would have been handsomely paid to take a coffee break somewhere far away.
He had a vision of himself pushing her onto the seat, flipping up that pretty skirt, and hammering into her until they both shattered in ecstasy and she screamed his name. Had he spoken those words out loud?
"Law...Indecent exposure..." Words he didn't understand except they meant more waiting when he ached to his hands on her, strip her naked, and make all his fantasies come true.
Insatiable, he tore open her top and flicked the catch on her bra, freeing her breasts from their restraint. Beautiful. Round and firm. Nipples hardened to deliciously dark peaks. He drew one into his mouth, licked and sucked until she cried out. Her hand tightened in his hair until pain merged with pleasure, and he couldn't think beyond doing it again.”
― Sara Desai, The Singles Table

“I want to kiss him better than the girls before me. I want to make forgetting me impossible so whenever he closes his eyes, he relives this moment over and over, hands tangled in hair, lips held captive. Remembering me until I am his memory.”
― Caroline George, The Summer We Forgot

“I spun around, and now heat throbbed all through me from my chest down between my legs, because we were front to front, and my eyes met his with a spark that sizzled, and his voice was husky as he said, "We might die in here."
There are worse places to die, I thought, nestled against his chest, and then I said it out loud. I could feel rather than hear his laugh. And then I was looking up at him, and he was looking down at me, and he asked the question with his eyes, and I answered it, and he bent down, and I lifted my chin and then we were kissing.
Kissing. I was kissing Bennett.
His lips were soft against mine at first, gentle, exploring. But I craved more. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer, kissed him harder, parted my lips and let his tongue slip inside.
I was kissing Bennett.
He made a little noise deep in his throat, a growl or a purr, as he slid his hands down my body to my waist. They touched the exposed slice of skin between my blouse and skirt and God that flash of tingly heat made me gasp. Made me want more. Made me want him.
"Julie." My name was a plea. I answered him with another kiss, curled myself into him so tight I didn't know if I'd be able to untangle myself from his warm skin and soft curls and the gentle flex of his biceps as he held tight to me.
I didn't want to, though. I wanted to wrinkle that pressed button-down, slip my hand beneath it and trace the divot running down his back, bite his earlobe and feel him shiver.”
― Amanda Elliot, Best Served Hot

“Their bodies coupled. Her breasts pressed against his chest and their hip bones rubbed. He curved his arms about her shoulders. She settled her hands at his waist. The man was solid. His muscles taut. She shifted between his legs, flush with his groin. A groin that stirred. Arousal struck hard.
He bent to kiss her.
Just as she stretched up to him.
Time slowed with the exchange of breath.
The heat of his slightly parted lips blew across her mouth.
His unshaved jaw brushed the softer skin of her chin.
Seconds were magnified as each memorized the impact of the moment. It was startling. Unsettling. And unforgettable.
He moved on her without reservation. The pull between them was inescapable. He slanted his mouth over hers, flicked his tongue along her upper lip, and nipped the bottom one. Then sucked both hard. She nearly came out of her skin.
He penetrated her mouth with his tongue. A seductive pulse of slow, then fast. Raking the roof of her mouth, then thrusting deep. He was skilled in kissing. She lost herself in the mating rhythm.”
― Kate Angell, The Café Between Pumpkin and Pie

“Great. Darcy is the ruler of our school. Prety soon, Julius is going to be like Singapore - you'll get a $500 fine for chewing gum or making out in the hallways.”
― Flynn Meaney, The Boy Recession

“We do not know whether I am making love to you or you are making love to me. The experience is so completely mutual. It feels awesome. I wish it could last forever.”
― J.F.Kelly

“We went to a movie and he kissed me for the first time. We kissed right through itâ€�

‘Now let’s kiss somewhere else,â€� said Max.”
― Elaine Dundy, The Dud Avocado

“She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, licked the strong line of his jaw, the chin with a tiny cleft in the center. She liked his scratchy stubble, the erotic burning sensation it made on her skin as he licked and sucked the sensitive dip between her neck and her shoulder.”
― Sara Desai, The Marriage Game

“Do you think we're the only ones here?"
"When I called, they told me no one comes up on Mondays. It's just us." His gaze flitted from her mouth, back to her eyes.
Her hands traveled down the front of his shirt. A dare. "So we're all alone?"
Her mouth smelled like apples and cinnamon, and when he kissed her, she tasted like the cider they'd been drinking. He backed her up and against the tree, cradling her head as he continued to press his lips into hers.”
― Erin La Rosa, For Butter or Worse

“I have a blanket behind the seat, a thick wool one. We can cuddle on the bleachers, and with the blanket wrapped around us no one will know if I sneak a feel every now and then.â€�
“I’ll know.�
“God, I hope so. If you don’t, then I’ve either lost my touch or my aim.”
― Linda Howard, Dying to Please

“To describe a kiss is to describe a diary entry or a pair of underwear—each is personal and private, slightly awkward. Very awkward. But necessary.”
― Caroline George, The Vestige

“Making-out is one thing that won’t change even if civilization fizzles and humanity is reduced to two people. So each time Jack and I kiss, it’s as if we’re flipping off the jerks who destroyed our planet, as if we’re screaming at the top of our lungsâ€�
We know your secret.
And we won’t be made invisible.”
― Caroline George, The Vestige

“All you have to do is slide your palms down, along her curves and then let her body do her thing.”
― Nitya Prakash

“We went to a movie and he kissed me for the first time. We kissed right through it...

“Now let’s kiss somewhere else,â€� said Max.”
― Elaine Dundy, The Dud Avocado

“She's so small, it's alarming, like handling fine crystal beneath him. He's constantly worried about crushing her, but she doesn't seem to mind him on top. In fact, she pulls him that much closer, eager for more.
Eden sucks on his bottom lip, raking her fingers through his hair like she's searching for a lifeline out in the middle of murky waters. She rolls her hips against him again, unleashing lava through his veins. Her hands are just as greedy as his, dragging down to the front of his chest, wandering further to the front of his pants. Eden palms at his erection through the stiff fabric of his jeans, and he just about loses it.
"Eden---"
There's something ravenous in her eyes. Something seductive and dangerous. It's pure, unadulterated hunger. They're both chefs. They should know.
They move with purpose. Eden undoes his belt, he slips his hands beneath her shirt. She gropes the front of his boxer briefs, he lightly squeezes her small breasts. He mouths at the delicate skin of her throat, she parts her legs that much wider. They breathe as one, panting and groaning and drowning in the pursuit of pleasure.”
― Katrina Kwan, Knives, Seasoning, & A Dash of Love

“[…] I don’t care about the hickey, even though it will have to be covered with concealer for over a week. I want this symbol, a reminder of where he touched me.”
― Isabel Banta, Honey