From the book you’re currently reading, or one you just finished, tell us what made you SWOON. What got your heart pounding, your skin tingling, and your stomach fluttering.
Shout it out on Twitter with the hashtag #YABound, post it here in the comments, or grab the adorable button above and share it on your blog!
* * * * *
So this weeks swoon comes from a book I know many of you will know intimately. Yes, I have been a bit slow obtaining a copy , but once I did, I started reading and found it almost impossible to put down until I was done.
"What is the book?" - do I hear you ask??
For your enjoyment, I have included two SWOONS. But I should warn you, they are both rather long.
When I awoke the following morning, the sun had crested the valley. I really wasn't on my side of the bed anymore. Hell, I wasn't on the bed. Half of my body was sprawled across Daemon's chest. Our legs were tangled together under the comforter. One of my arms was around my waist like a band of steel. My hand was on his stomach. I could feel his heart beating under my cheek, steady and strong.
I lay there, my breath in my throat.
There was something intimate about being wrapped around one another in a bed. Like lovers.
A sweet, hot fire washed over my skin, and I squeezed my eyes shut. Every inch of me was hyper-aware of him. Of how my body fit against his, the way his thighs were pressed against mine, the hardness of his stomach under my hand.
My hormones kicked in with the power of a dropkick to the stomach. Heated lightening zipped through my veins. For a moment, I pretended. Not that we weren't two different species, because I didn't see him that way, but that we actually liked one another.
And then he shifted and rolled. I was on my back, and he was still on the move. His face burrowed into the space between my neck and shoulder, nuzzling. Sweet baby Jesus... Warm breath danced over my body. His arm was heavy against my stomach, his leg between mine. Scorched air fled my lungs.
Daemon murmured in a language I couldn't understand. Whatever it was, it sounded beautiful and soft. Magical. Unearthly.
I could've woken him up but for some reason I didn't. The thrill of him touching me was far stronger than anything else.
His hand was on the edge of the borrowed shirt, his long fingers on the strip of exposed flesh between the hem of the shirt and the band of the worn pajama bottoms. And his hand inched up under the shirt, across my stomach, where it dipped slightly. My pulse went into cardiac territory. The tips of his fingers brushed my ribs. His body moved.
Sorry, but I just found it too difficult not to include the whole scene. The second SWOON is a complement to the first. It is the same scene, but from Daemon's point of view (Provided by Jennifer at the end of Obsidian - the Amazon eBook version).
I wasn't sure if I was dreaming, but if I was, I didn't want to wake up. The scent of peach and vanilla teased me, invaded me.
Only she smelled that wonderful, of summer and all the things I could want and never have. The length of her body was pressed against mine, with her hand resting on my stomach. The steady rise and fall of her chest became my entire world, and in this dream - because it had to be a dream - I felt my own chest matching her breaths.
Every cell in my body sparked and burned. If I was awake, I'd surely take on my true form. My body was on fire.
Just a dream, but it felt real.
I couldn't resist sliding my leg over hers, burrowing my head between her neck and shoulder, and inhaling deeply. Divine. Perfect. Human. Breathing became more difficult than I'd ever imagined. Lust swirled through me, heady and consuming. I tasted her skin - a slight brush of my lips, a flick of my tongue. She felt perfect underneath me; soft in all the places I was hard.
Moving over her, against her, I loved the sound she made - a soft , wholly feminine murmur that scorched every piece of me. "You're perfect for me," I whispered in my own language.
She stirred, and I dreamt her responding, wanting me instead of hating me.
I pressed down, sliding my hand under her shirt. Her skin felt like satin underneath my fingertips. Precious. Prized. If she was mine, I'd cherish every inch of her. And I wanted to. Now. My hand crept up, up, up.
"Soft in all the places I was hard" - what a great line.
So what do you think?