" I’ve never awaited a kiss more in my whole life.
“It won’t hurt, I promise.” He husks throatily, lowering his head, blocking out the sun so all I see are twin blues and my own lust mirrored back in them.
I’m right. It’s a kiss like no other I’ve had before.
He doesn’t plunder, not at first.
His lips edge across mine—first the top, then the bottom, coaxing me to open. He presses lightly, teasing me almost into whimpering. Of course I want more, I’m out of my flipping mind wanting the kiss, so I drag at his shirt, as if to tell him to get on with it already and that’s when his mouth opens, and my brain switches off.
His mouth lays waste to mine in a not-so-surprising and yet all arousing eating kiss that feels as though he’s wolfing me down from the inside with each measured flick of his tongue. His taste floods through me, not a corner of my body is left out of the pleasure soaking out of Theo and into me.
He kisses like I’ve always wanted to be kissed by a man. "

― V. Theia , Manhattan Storm (From Manhattan #3)