Friday Kiss Tag
Posting this for the second time, because Tumblr deleted my last one! I was tagged by @sarandipitywrites here with their steamy kiss scene <3 <3
Here's an extra long snippet from The Ruby of Ranpur, because we all need extra romance in our lives right now, I think. This is a flashback to when the crime-fighting husbands first became crime-fighting boyfriends.
Since the night of the fireworks, Raj had been a guest at my home as often as we thought we could get away with. Intimacy like this - even if nothing had actually happened; nothing condemnable, at any rate, not yet - was always a risk, but we had both figured out that being apart was an option that hadn’t suited either of us.
And even if nothing had happened, yet… the taut, struck-crystal tension between us put everything into sharper focus when he was around: someday, it would break. Since the night on the mountainside when I realised I loved him, I had only grown more magnetised to his presence, like a compass, oriented north at all times.
“Ah,” he said, coming in and closing the door behind him. “I should have told you it’s Maha Shivaratri - she’s probably at home, praying with her family.”
“Damn,” I said. “Well, there’s nothing to eat. We could go out, try and find a restaurant in the city that will seat us–”
“Nonsense,” he said, turning down the corridor that led to the kitchen. “I can cook.”
In moments, Raj had whipped up a storm in the kitchen, placing the mutton joint in a shallow iron pot and adorning it with spices and a good glug of water. For each spice he placed in the pot, he crushed it in his hands and held out his palms for me to smell it, explaining the flavour profile and the role each one played in the cooking.
Little of it stuck, to my regret, because I was too distracted by the competent way he moved around the kitchen, and the enthusiasm in his smile. I was growing dizzy with the smells and the warmth of the hearth and his attention, and I hadn’t even had a drop of alcohol to drink. I didn’t want any.
“Try this,” he said, proferring a spoon. Somehow, both his bright kurta and my white shirt had been spared splashes of the oily, tomato-rich curry, and now, I leaned forward to carefully blow on the taste he offered me. This close, I was hyper-aware of how wonderful it felt to have the heat of his body close to mine, how I had to tilt my chin up to see his smile properly, and how becoming his thick, dark eyelashes looked against his cheeks.
Almost as soon as I closed my lips around the spoon and tasted the thick, creamy sauce, I’m ashamed to admit that I let out a noise somewhere between indelicate and sinful. My eyes slid closed in bliss. The flavours that exploded over my tongue were nothing short of exquisite: there was heat, and spice, and richness, but then, there was a surprisingly delicate herbal-citrus aftertaste that made my mouth water for more.
I was so focussed on the pure sensation of the flavour that I hardly noticed when Raj slipped the spoon away and replaced it with his lips.
My mouth parted in surprise, but it was as though he was chasing up the rich heat of the curry with his kiss, soft and slow. I quickly determined that the taste of him was no less tempting. Something warm - something other than the curry - settled below my breastbone, tingling against my heart.
He pulled away, and a breath of air fell between us. His hand had come to rest against my shoulder, fingers just brushing the short hair at the back of my neck. The expression on his face was somewhat tentative, almost worried.
“Say something,” he said, after a few long moments of silence. “Say anything. Tell me if this isn’t welcome. Curse at me and kick me out. I’ll leave forever, if you’d like me to.”
“God, don’t leave,” I whispered, regaining my wits and pulling myself closer to him. Those fingers tightened in my hair. “It’s only… I’m trying hard not to rip your clothes off and have you right here by the stove.”
He laughed, relieved and light, then tugged me close to kiss again, more insistent this time. In one movement, he pressed me against the brick wall surrounding the hearth, and dropped his spoon, letting it clatter against the tiled floor. I barely noticed: every inch he was touching me was alight with need, that crystal having shattered and spilled me like a spirit. I felt I could catch fire.
“The curry,” he murmured between kisses.
“Curry later,” I replied, digging my fingers into his kurta and trying to pull him closer, closer. He sunk his teeth into my bottom lip, and I groaned. “Kiss me now.”
