Fierce Kiss Novels & Stories

All I wanted was to drink his champagne kisses. Dean's hands flew all over me, touching me in places I hadn't been touched in quite a while. I felt the lust coursing through his body as he tugged at my shirt, and I wanted more. I wanted it so badly that I found myself jumping up and wrapping my legs around him before he even had the chance to remove my shirt. His hands grabbed me around the waist and held me up as we passionately kissed each other. My fingers went to the bottom of his ripped t-shirt, pulling it over his head.

Good. “Names,” Viktor ordered. The first to step forward was a tall brunette with a scar across her cheek like she’d survived a bomb. She wore black cargo pants and combat boots like she meant business. “Kira,” she said in a flat voice. “Explosives. Don’t get in my fucking way.” I raised an eyebrow. “Try not to blow yourself up, and we’ll get along just fine.” She didn’t react. Ice cold. Next was a blonde with ceand ekbones sharp enough to cut glass and dark lipstick that screamed trouble. She looked like she enjoyed pain, mostly giving it.

The kiss was aggressive, desperate, like she was pouring all her anger and frustration into it. Damn it!

I let out a small, helpless whimper, his kiss fierce, a mix of anger and need that leaves me breathless. His grip is rough, fingers pressing into my skin as he pulls me closer, his mouth moving against mine with a fervor that borders on desperate. The taste of him—whiskey and fury—hits me all at once, and I gasp, my fists clutching the fabric of his shirt, holding him to me as if letting go would tear something vital away.

Without hesitation, he caged her against the doorframe, his lips crashing onto hers in a fierce, desperate kiss. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was raw. Starved. Possessive.

“Gladly.” He leaned down, his lips brushing mine with a tenderness that quickly ignited into flame. The kiss was fierce, unrestrained, a declaration carved into the air. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, my body pressed against his. The world narrowed to the heat between us, the fire that surged through my veins, the undeniable truth of his choice.

“You absolute, stubborn, reckless idiot.” I closed the distance between us in a single, frantic motion, my hands flying to his face, my fingers a frantic, desperate search for any sign of a serious injury. And then, I kissed him. It wasn’t a gentle, tender kiss. It was a fierce, desperate, punishing kiss, a collision of lips and teeth and tongues that was a raw, unfiltered expression of my fear, my anger, my relief, my love. It was a kiss that was meant to hurt, to punish, to remind him that he wasn’t allowed to die, to leave me, or to break my heart. It was a kiss that was a testament to the depth of my feelings, a promise that I would never let him go.

"Everything is so... quiet. It feels like the world is closing its eyes." Félix didn't try to ignite a kinetic flare. He pulled me into a fierce, grounding embrace, his hands sliding beneath my furs to find the small of my back. His skin was cold, but the heat of his muscles was a vital, stubborn defiance. He kissed me with a slow, heavy intensity—a kiss that wasn't about the "Pact," but about the Flesh. It was a kiss of salt, chapped lips, and the desperate need to know the other person was still there.

His grip on me did not loosen. In fact, it tightened. I gasped, caught in his hold. His face was so close I felt the heat of his breath against my lips. He leaned in until the barest space remained, and then— Our mouths crashed. It was not soft. It was not tender. It was fire, fierce and unyielding. His kiss claimed me like a brand, and mine returned, desperate, frantic, helpless. My back struck the wall with a dull thud, pain sparking through me, but I didn’t pull away. His hands roamed, fierce, and mine clawed back at him as though I wanted to tear him into myself.

His thumb trembled against her cheek. Then his mouth crashed against hers. The kiss was not tender. It was fierce, consuming, desperate. His hands pulled her close, as if holding her body tighter could bind her loyalty, as if her breath could drown out the doubt burning through his veins. For a moment, she let herself feel it — the fire, the ache, the longing that had always existed between them. But the more he clung, the more she realized what it was: not love, not trust. Chains.