100 Kisses From Justine
Congratulations to Victoria Blisse on the 100th Sunday Snog. How could I resist joining in such a festival of osculation? Answer: I couldn’t.
Here’s a rural fireside snog from my latest publication, Ask No Questions.
“So you prefer sheep to women, then, do you? Is it true what they say?”
It seemed the natural thing to do, to take hold of a pigtail and wrap it around his fist in mock-threat.
“And what might that be? Would you care to tell me?”
“One man and his sheep. A relationship of equals.” She snorted with laughter, then squealed as he yanked the pigtail and descended towards her, lying propped on his elbow, his face an inch from hers.
“Say that again, and see what happens,” he whispered, his knuckles grazing her neck as he held the hank of hair fast.
“Sorry,” she squeaked, her eyes gleaming with exhilaration. “So it’s not true then? You prefer women to sheep?”
“Do you want proof?” The tip of his nose touched hers. She was so close and she smelled of wine and roses. And what was the harm, anyway? How could it hurt?
She nodded and he sensed the tension in her body, the breath held, the muscles furled.
He released her pigtail and slid his hand underneath its tight plait, palm on the side of her neck, fingers reaching around to the nape. Warm, female skin beneath his touch – something he had thought he could live without. What a fool he was.
Her lips were soft with a trace of some lipstick that tasted of those violet sweets he used to get in a mixed bag as a boy. He kissed them and he felt her response, a flutter then a flood. She clung to his neck and pulled him in. At first it was so delicate that he wanted to keep it that way, just to skim the surface of this huge well of sensuality that lay in his reach. He wanted to take it slowly, savour every tiny scrap of sensation, draw it out infinitely in case it never came again.
Their lips brushed, breaths mingling, noses rubbing, until the teasing lightness of it made them both wild for more. Now he wanted to show her what she could have. He put his free hand beneath her chin and held that too, so she could do nothing but give in to the increasing pressure of his kisses. Not that she seemed to want to do otherwise. She put a hand on his waist, climbing up him, wrapping a leg over his hip and holding him tight.
He put a thumb beneath her lower lip and pulled it downwards, opening her up for the eager penetration of his tongue. Inside her warm mouth it pushed its way, into a dark place of sighing and softness. She let him in, no struggling, just sweet acceptance. He had forgotten kissing could be so maddeningly sexy. He was far, far gone on the addictive deliciousness of it, pushed over the boundaries of restraint. No sense or reason could prevail against the shocking re-emergence from his depths of pure lust.
He felt he could never get his tongue deep enough or his lips hard enough, however close he came. Kim had her hands in his hair now, her fingers wound tightly in his dark curls, and her tongue pushed just as avidly as his, as if she wanted to scoop out his soul with it. He rolled over on top of her, and then back again, and then she lay on top of him while they writhed against each other like fury, seeing if they could burn each other’s clothes off by friction alone.
They kept this up for what seemed like hours, until they rolled too far towards the hearth and Kim’s hip was crushed against the tiled surround, causing her to yelp into Rhys’ mouth.
He broke off. “You OK?” he gasped.
“Fine, just a bump.”
“No, I mean, are you OK? With this?”
She looked dazed, as if she didn’t understand the question.
“Are you serious?” she said, her voice broken and husky. “You’re the best kisser I’ve ever met. You’re like…I don’t even know what you’re like.”
Join in with the rest of the kissing fun by checking here for participants: http://blissekiss.co.uk/100th/