Last Kiss Book Novels & Stories

Everyone said my wife, Zoey Harper, was an amazing wife and mom who'd do anything for me and our son, Leo. Leo's doctor warned us three times that he might not make it. Then he died. Zoey claimed she was overseas for work. She wasn't. She'd invited Peter Cole—the first love she'd never gotten over—and his family to our apartment for dinner. I came home carrying Leo's urn, ready to confront her. Instead, she tossed my luggage into the hall. "We have guests, and we're out of rooms. Go stay somewhere else for a few days."

⸻ ”…before the Fourth Kiss. End of Chapter 13

I lean up and kiss him once more, quick and sure, a final period on a story that used to be all questions. “And together,” I add, as the muffled roar of the crowd swells one last time behind us, “we owned the world.” End of Book 1

It starts to feel weird so I turn and open the window trying not to make noise. “Good night..." "Angie," he interrupts me, approaching me like a predator and putting his hands on my waist, "I think we should kiss goodbye. For the good times." Good times? When? "I think you're right," I reply anyway. I bring my hands to his cheeks before standing on my tiptoes and leaning in closer to bring our hungry lips together. This kiss feels different than any other we've given each other before, maybe because it's our last. We're putting more effort into it than ever before.

I followed him into the kitchen, the same kitchen where he'd once made me instant ramen at two in the morning during a study session that turned into an entire night talking about nothing, and the memory of that easy, ordinary intimacy made the current distance between us feel even colder by comparison. "What's going on with you," I said, no preamble, because I didn't have the energy left for careful. "Nothing's going on. I just had a busy week." "You held my hand four days ago. You told me you never stopped loving me. And now I get a text canceling plans with an excuse that doesn't even sound like you." I crossed my arms, less out of anger than needing something to do with them. "Something

Up until she had arrived at the Galla party, even her encounter with the newscasters, unknown to her, he couldn't help but follow her around just to catch a glimpse of her face. He was greatly disheartened when he saw the look she gave him. The look was filled with hatred and pain, and even her words felt like a thousand swords and arrows were piercing his heart. Tugging and pulling at his heart till nothing was left of it. He longed to be with his Elle again, to see and hear her beautiful laugh. But did he have a chance after so many years? Ethan thought to himself as he stood at his favorite place where he gazed into the dark city with a glass of wine in his hand. He sighed and drank the r

I could almost feel his hands on me, even though he wasn’t there. “Fuck me in front of your enemies.” ‘Make me come without touching me.’ Prove you own me with nothing but your voice. “Tell me a secret no one knows’ then make me regret knowing it. The list went on,horny, reckless, romantic, twisted. By the time I was done, I had a pile of torn pages all over the floor. I bent down to pick them up. That’s when my wristwatch started beeping. A call. Madam Santos.

I wrapped my legs around his waist while he supported me so we wouldn't fall. His kisses went down to my neck. I look up to catch my breath. He touched his lips to my neck as only moans came out of my mouth. We started because of lust. We all know that I'm not his first love. But I am the present and I intend to be his last. His last love. If I'm going to give a title to our story, I think I know what it is. I'm going to name it The Lust Love.

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

"Please." Finn places his giant hand over mine, grinning at me like a fool. "Forgetting you would be impossible, little wolf." I cry louder, unable to stop the tears, and Finn leans his head down to claim my lips. And I swear by God it's the last kiss of my life, for I will never love another man like Finn. This kiss is our goodbye, and I close my eyes, feeling the warmth of his breath until he is no longer there. When I open my eyes, I wake up inside my room at home, drenched in a cold sweat. Years have passed in the blink of an eye—I know it, yet I can still taste Finn on my tongue.