Novel & Cerita Kiss Of Smoke Book

He seems to be unaware of his surroundings. Anyone who will be able to see him right now can't help themselves to fall for this immortal. His long lashes hood his eyes looking like they captured the whole universe. His sharp and proud nose. His soft but red lips always invite for a kiss. His long dark brown locks are carelessly flowing down. His neck and protruding Adam's apple somehow moved downwards and went back again to their position. Then he turned to me and it felt like something crashed into an invisible wall and hit me somewhere where it was fatal.

The bookshop smelled like aged paper and quiet. Like someone had taken all the noise out of the world and stored it between these walls. Lena stood in the doorway with Dominic's hand on her back, and she couldn't move forward. A woman stood behind the counter, reading. She looked up when the bell chimed. Her eyes—dark brown, sharp, familiar in a way that made Lena's entire body go numb—met hers across the room. She knew. Without introductions. Without explanations. She knew.

The kind that comes from surviving things that should've killed most men. I walk over and pluck the cigarette from his fingers without asking. His eyebrows lift slightly. I bring it to my lips, inhale, then lean in. I exhale the smoke into his mouth. Our lips meet, followed by our tongues in a slow, filthy kiss as the smoke curls around us. He tastes like tobacco and bad decisions I want to make again. Pulling back, I hand him the cigarette. He takes it with a half smile that does dangerous things to my insides.

Kael’s hand tightened slightly on her arm. “Look at me,” he said. She did. And for a moment, everything else faded. The fire. The war. The threat. Just his voice. Just his presence. “Hold it,” he said. “I’m trying” “Try harder.” Her teeth clenched. Her body shook. But something….Something shifted. The power didn’t explode. It pulsed. The figure’s smile faded slightly. Kael noticed. And his voice dropped. “That’s it.” Lira’s breathing slowed.

And then, without warning, he kissed me. It was raw. Fierce. Possessive. His mouth claimed mine like a storm swallowing the sea, his tongue moving with a hunger that startled me. His lips tasted of smoke, sharp and bitter from the cigarettes he’d been smoking, yet there was something darkly addictive about it, like danger wrapped in desire. The taste of tobacco mixed with his Alpha aura, making the kiss intoxicating, making it impossible not to respond. When he pulled back, his eyes glimmered like embers. “It seems I like you,” he said, licking his lips slowly as if savoring me. His finger traced the curve of my lower lip, sending a shudder down my spine. “And I want you.”

A pot of water actually boiling on the stove without setting off the smoke alarm, which felt like its own milestone. He read the last page. Set it down. Looked at me. “You made us immortal.” The tears came. The clean, quiet kind that happens when the war is officially over and the floor held. He stepped into my space. His thumb tracing the moisture on my cheekbone. His mouth replacing it – kissing my eyelids, both, slow, with a tenderness that had nothing to do with crisis. Just the wanting. That night I stood in front of the bookcase. The manuscript in its white box. His marked-up Gatsby on the top shelf – the margins crammed with love letters disguised as literary analysis. A space beside

Now, I finally found out — Summer had been attacked that night as well, and Victor’s orders had been: “Save Summer first.” My tears soaked into the paper, smudging his handwriting. “Alright,” I said softly but firmly into the silence. “If my marriage had been a lie all along, I’ll disappear from your life. Forever.” ... Once I made all the arrangements for my departure, I ended the call and put the folder where I had found it. Just then, I caught a familiar whiff of cigarette smoke and instinctively looked up. It was him. Victor walked in, his suit still chilly from the night air. He hugged me from behind, his warm chest pressed against my back. His voice was soft, low, and magnetic. “Why ar

“Curious, Your Highness? Am I not allowed to surprise you?” His lips curled—not quite a smile. More like a warning. “Surprises,” he said, “usually come with a price.”

H 41 Sienna. The kettle whistled loudly, almost getting my attention, but I ignored it, flicking the last of the dried rose petals into the teacup. Isabella was sprawled across my couch, one socked foot hanging off the edge, flipping lazily through one of those trashy romance novels she pretended not to love. “You gonna get that?” she asked without looking up. “I’m dramatically finishing the aesthetic,” I replied, sliding the cup toward her. She accepted it with mock reverence. “You’re a goddess.”