" He was going to kiss her. The thought speared through her stunned mind as he closed the distance between them and brushed his warm lips over hers.
The rush was like plunging from the high point of a roller coaster: sheer exhilaration, breathlessness, half a heart attack.
She made a sound. She hadn't meant it to be encouraging, but it so obviously was, he kissed her deeper.
Nobody kissed like Harper. God, she'd almost forgotten how he would begin slow and soft and seduce her mouth little by little until she was hopelessly lost, until she was ruthlessly conquered. "
― Dana Marton , Deathmarch (Broslin Creek, #7)