No crits today. Vote yay or nay for the kissing scene.
"Jarend?" It had to be. Hard to mistake his patchy coat of red and white. Laccindy rushed across the platform, leaping into his grasp. Laughing, she proceeded to smother his face in kisses. She pulled back to stare at him, her fingers trailing along his jaw, her thumbs brushing across his lips. Real.
The corners of his mouth lifted. The softest pressure against the nape of her neck brought her lips down to his. Gone was her patient, tender lover. Jarend's mouth claimed hers like a starving man, consuming all before him and desperate for more. He pressed her close, crushing her in his arms, squeezing the air from her lungs.
Faced with such fervour, Laccindy surrendered wholeheartedly. She clutched his head, her fingers sliding into his thick hair as his searching tongue duelled with hers. Moaning, her arms linked behind his neck. She tried to pull him closer, her whole body burning with the need for him and everything he had to give, but there was no room left between them to yield.
She clung to his shoulders, her legs likewise wrapped about his waist. The heat of his skin soaked through her clothes. Her frustration escaped via the smallest of whimpers. He had no right to feel this good. No right to be so gloriously desirable. No right to make her want him this badly.
Jarend groaned in answer. The sound, so guttural and primal, charged the heat already pooling in her gut. His tongue pressed harder against hers. His trembling hands fell from her waist to her rump, his nails scraping across the soft leather trousers as he kneaded her flesh. She tensed, waiting — and shamelessly praying — for him to tear the clothing from her body. For him to take her right where he stood.