Shane never knew how to address her friends' parents. She wanted to call her Mrs. Eliot's Mom, but knew that the cutesiness would not be appreciated. “Mrs. Kaspar” sounded too like a phone solicitor, which would not do after having kissed the circumference of her son's neck.

She kissed him… long enough he could almost hear her thoughts. Long enough that he began to know her story, know what she had been through.

His kisses were so hungry and male, which isn't bad. Every kiss said he could never have enough, but he wasn't going to stop trying. They were so hormonal. I wanted his sugar roughness. Girl's kisses are deliberate and polished. When she kisses me - when I kiss her - she doesn't want me. She has me and knows it.

Her lips are like pillows of warm glass. It is strange to find her resistant for even a second, since she has been the kisser and not the kissed. It wasn't like the last time, which felt fumbling and unnatural. That time wasn't off-putting, just like kissing one's sister. This kiss, my kiss, was tingling sweetness, electric apple blossoms.

As he had kissed her neck, she could not repress the feeling she was a lamb making time with a wolf.

Like any man, he had no real protection from an unsolicited kiss from a pretty woman, even one he had just murdered.

I miss more loving someone so deeply that I can't imagine a forever without her kisses.

I discuss my beliefs less because I bed my atheist, who cannot believe in much more sacred than our kisses.

Kissing a stranger because that is what is done presages an unhappy year not for any supernatural reason, but because you are unsatisfied enough with your lot in life to put your lips on the line for a fallacy.