Victorious Kisses Novels & Stories

In the way people no longer pretended they weren’t watching. Victor had kissed her, and not in a way meant to suggest tenderness. It had been a claim, exact and final. A reminder delivered with precision, timed not to wound her, but to wound everyone else. His mouth had been hard, his hand a heavy weight at the nape of her neck, forcing the world to witness his possession. And she had let him.

His dark eyes locked right onto mine, and he didn't look even a little bit surprised to see me standing there. For what felt like forever, we just stared at each other. Then he moved, covering the space between us in just two quick steps. His hand came up to cup my face, and then his lips were on mine. The kiss was deep and hungry, tasting like expensive cigar and something that was just... Victor. I kissed him back just as hard, my hands gripping his arms to keep myself steady. At that moment, nothing else in the world existed, not Jaxon lying hurt in his hospital bed, not all the danger that seemed to follow us everywhere, not the complete confusion between us.

Nico’s lips brushed my shoulder. “If anyone tries to stop us…” His voice was low, lethal. “They die.” I turned my head and kissed Nico first—slow, deep, tasting the remnants of last night on his tongue. Then I turned to Victor and kissed him the same way, letting him taste Nico on me. They both groaned. The kiss deepened. Victor’s hand slid down my stomach, between my thighs, finding me still slick and swollen. Nico’s cock hardened fully against my ass.

Why do Victors have to talk so fucking much? My abrupt action causes him to lean back against his expensive mahogany desk. He holds my head between his palms, and he deepens the kiss. My fingers struggle to undo his buttons. “Motherfucker," I mutter between kisses. “What's wrong?” He pulls his face away slightly. “If you're not sure, then we don't —" “No, it's not that. Do you have another one of these shirts?" “Yes, but why do you want to — ”

she whispered to him, suppressing the moan that tried to escape from her lips. In a nanosecond, Francis carried her with his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist, finally claiming her lips. He moaned from the kiss, as he felt so hot from it. Everytime he kissed her, it was as if fire and ice met and both succumbed to the pressure, becoming one. He inserted his tongue into her mouth, tasting her as both tongues fought for dominance. It felt as if it was the first time kissing her and it seems she had gotten better than before.

But f-k the man could kiss. She wrapped herself around him, her fingers threading into his hair, and her ankles crossing behind his back. He pushed her up against Vice’s chest and groaned into her mouth. Oh, yes, champagne and honey, she thought wildly, as his hand slid up her thigh and her hands tangled in his hair, pulling it back from his face so that she could kiss him to her satisfaction. When she threw her head back to draw breath, Vice’s lips met hers, and she kissed him, sweeping her tongue against his to taste him. F-k the man tasted divine. Victor kissed his way down her neck to the cleavage bared by her dress.

His jaw creaked as he ground his teeth, the sound audible through the vibrations in the ground. "Victor, wait! You can't fight that!" Elodie screamed. Victor didn't listen. He needed to feel the weight of his resolve. He turned back to her for a split second, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her into a hard, desperate collision. He crashed his mouth against hers, a messy, salt-tasting kiss that ignored the vacuum and the monster in the sky. He needed the heat of her skin, the literal 3D pressure of her heart against his ribs one last time.

I absolutely, unapologetically melted. My hands curled into his shirt, his hands pulled me close, and somewhere in the suite, I swear I heard Mr. Yellow gag dramatically behind a pillow. But neither of us cared. Because this kiss wasn’t just romance. It was a claim. A promise. A sizzling, toe-curling royal seal of vengeance, power, and love. And when we finally pulled apart, slightly breathless, I whispered— “Well… that was better than decapitation.” Edric smirked.

The room seemed to hold its breath, the world outside fading away, leaving only the two of them, lost in this moment of connection. Victor's hand found the small of her back, pulling her closer, his touch possessive yet tender. Martha melted into him, her body molding to his, her hands reaching up to tangle in his hair. The kiss was slow, a dance of tongues and teeth, a battle of wills and desires. It was a kiss that promised passion, that teased at the depths of their connection, that left her breathless and aching for more.

Reid beside him, smile gone, replaced by something darker, hungrier. She lifted her chin. “Maybe I’ve been waiting for you to stop.” Victor moved like he’d been given permission. His mouth crashed onto hers—possessive, claiming, tasting of beer and smoke and want. One hand cupped the back of her neck; the other slid under the hem of her sundress, callused fingers finding bare thigh, then higher. She gasped into his kiss when he discovered she was soaked—no panties, just slick heat waiting.