1
" There were fat cats and skinny cats. The long-tailed and the bobbed. The daring young leapers, and the old windowsill sleepers. Balls of waddling fluff, smooth-coated prowlers, and hairless ones that looked fragile and wise. The tiger-striped, the ring-tailed, and the ones with matching coloured socks and mittens. There were tabbies and calicos. Manx and Persians. Siamese and Bombay. Ragdolls and Birmans. Maine Coons and Russian Blues. There were Snowshoes and Somalis, Tonkinese and Turkish, and many, many more. Brown and beige and orange and grey and black and white and silver cats, each with gleaming eyes of emerald, or sapphire, or amber. A rainbow of precious stones. "
― Brooke Burgess , The Cat's Maw (The Shadowland Saga #1)
2
" We kiss for a long time, a good long time. I don’t even notice that it’s cold and I forget to be afraid because that’s just how good a kisser he is. His lips move above my lips. My lips ache for the touch of him, the softness of his skin. We keep kissing. My hands wrap themselves in his hair. His hand presses me close into him, as close as I can be against him, and he is solid, strong, amazing. My hands leave his hair and journey down to the sides of his face, still tingling.
“We should keep going,” he says, voice gruff and husky again. I love when his voice sounds like that, deeper than normal. His lips puff out a little more, too. “You’re blushing.”
I pull my lips in against each other like I’m still trying to taste him. I move my snowshoes off of his snowshoes. It’s tricky.
“You’re a good kisser,” I say.
“So are you. "
― Carrie Jones , Need (Need, #1)
3
" Nick bumps my shoulder with his, playfully. He kicks up some extra snow on purpose, whishing it onto my knees.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” I tell him.
“Really?”
“Especially with that doggy breath.”
He scoops up some snow, makes it into a ball, bounces his hand up and down. “Take that back.”
I giggle. “Nope.”
I bend down to grab some snow and topple headfirst. The cold of it bites into my cheeks. I try to push myself up, but I can’t. I’m all awkward and clumsy with the snowshoes on.
Nick laughs.
I struggle some more.
He grabs me under my arms and hauls me up. Smiling, he sticks out his tongue, and with tiny little movements starts licking the snow off my cheeks. It should be disgusting. It’s not. It’s all warm, and good feeling, and amazing. I close my eyes and let him.
“You smell good,” he whispers.
“I haven’t showered.”
“Doesn’t matter, you smell good.”
His voice, sensual and warm, mellows me.
Our lips touch and part, touch again. I breathe him in. He moves his face away a little and studies me. I smile. I can’t help it.
“I like you,” I say. “A lot. Even with the whole werewolf thing.”
He smiles back. “I like you too.”
“A lot?”
“Mm-hmm,” he says, leaning in for another kiss. “A wicked lot. "
― Carrie Jones , Need (Need, #1)
