Five Times Lucas Kissed Skye (and One Time He Didn't)
One: Euphoria
It was almost by instinct, or by child-like elation, that he was drawn to her as soon as she entered the tent. Grabbing that fantastic head of hers, those perfect lips, he pressed his mouth on to hers, causing her to jump back and recoil with fright. But he refused to release her, having enjoyed the foreign presence of a girl's lips against his lips, especially those as soft and desirable as Skye's; the girl who had made this all possible.
"I did it," he babbled, closing his eyes, nestling his head against hers. "And it's all because of you. Thank you, Bucket."
His hot breath lingered on her lips for a few moments, and he could feel her tremble beneath him. She didn't squirm, but he held her so intensely, as if she might try to escape from his grasp. His hands were pressed tightly over her ears, muffling his mad rants of revenge, and then his piercing green eyes met hers, sending shockwaves down her spine.
He stared at her for a few moments, his gaze so intense she wasn't sure whether he was going to kiss her again or strike her across the face. He eyed her lips, his dark eyes sailing down slowly. She swallowed and his gloved hands drifted through her hair, his fingers tangling between the soft curls. He savoured the sensations, the smells. He inhaled her, her natural scent tingling his nostrils, filling up his lungs. She smelt like the trees and the flowers and the fresh grass that surrounded them. He wanted more; more of this euphoria. But he had to go; the last stages of his plan were finally in motion.
"Goodbye, Bucket," he whispered, his voice heating up her ears. "Perhaps I'll see you again," and then he left, leaving her to catch her breath and scrub frantically at the ghost of his kiss on her lips.