Alias: The Doyen Series book 1

(24) THE PLAN

PICTURE: Kayde and Kieran's apartment.

"I could kiss you all day," Kayde moans as he softly runs his left hand through my hair. "I don't ever want to stop."

"So don't," I murmur breathily into his ear. I wrap my hands around his neck and pull myself closer to him. My lips contact his again, halting his ability to speak.

We are 2 vibrant flames uniting into 1 conflagration.

This is ecstasy.

Kayde tastes like Christmas cookies: cinnamon, peppermint, and honey all rolled into 1.

Bringing my hands to the bottom of his shirt, I lift without thinking. We break contact for 2 seconds but our eyes never leave each other. In the blink of an eye, Kayde has his shirt off and is devouring me again.

I gasp.

My body is tingling like I'm an electricity wire.

My body is blazing in vigor.

My lungs are collapsing, my heart is burst, my brain is swelling to an abnormal size.

1 misstep and I am bound to burst into red, blue, yellow, orange hot flames.

I am going to ignite.

I can't keep my hands from wandering down his chest. He's surprisingly warm like he's been under a blanket for too long. I find myself snuggling into his body, inhaling his marvelous, enrapturing, enticing scent.

Kayde is planting kisses

up and down,

up

and

down,

UP and d

                o

               w

        my neck

I have realized what it is like to fly.

To soar.

To be free.

Breathless, I throw my head back and smile up at the roof.

Nothing can be better than this, I tell him.

He chuckles. Well I can think of one thing...he trails off.

My smile widens as I run my hands down his broad shoulders, over his muscular biceps, and down to his hands that are now flexing on my behind.

I notice 2 bands on his left bicep that are only a few shades darker than his skin tone. The bands almost look like birthmarks—albeit weird ones.

1 is slightly larger than the other.

"What's that?" I ask him, pointing to his bicep.

He looks down to see what I'm talking about. "I got those a few weeks ago, actually. A day or so after I met you." He smiles shyly. "It's from our bond."

My eyes are the size of an 18-wheeler on stilts. "Our bond? What do these have to do with our bond?" I ask, my hand absentmindedly rubbing the tattoo.

He rubs the back of his neck with his free arm. "When bonds are formed, the two people get a tattoo. Ours is a Celtic knot. It represents unending love." He shrugs. "It's a supernatural thing. It's almost like a wedding band—to show that you are taken."