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Leylah Attar Books

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From His Lips

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The Paper Swan

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“It was a kiss that had sneaked in through an open window, a kiss that lay folded in a paper giraffe, in the silences between 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, in the pits of the mini mangoes and here, now, at least, it was set free. And the rightness of it, the feeling of longing and belonging, made me want to hold on to it forever. I wanted Damian to keep kissing me, keep kissing, keep kissing, until every other kiss had been erased, until this was the only kiss.”

Kiss
Book:The Paper Swan
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“I will remember the perfect oval of your face, the warmth of your throat, the way you hold a pen when you write. Most of all . . .” He cupped my chin, his eyes roving over my upturned face. “I will remember a strange, beautiful girl who liked the feel of old books and drank her coffee sweet. She snuck onto my porch on a gray day and taught me to see in color. She was a thief, my rainbow-haloed girl. When she left, she took my heart. And if I had another, I would give her that too”

JackRodel
Book:Mists of the Serengeti
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“My eyelids drooped, but I didn’t want to miss any of it—the way his fingertips were tracing the outline of my lips, the way his beautifully proportioned body felt against mine, the flecks of harvest gold in his sky-blue eyes. “Remember this.” He brushed the hair off my neck and breathed a kiss there. “When you’re curled up with your books on a rainy afternoon in England, remember how you painted my world with your colors. Remember your rainbow halo.” “I will.” A hot ache grew in my throat. He was already saying goodbye. “I’ll remember. For the rest of my life.”

JackRodel
Book:From His Lips
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“His gaze traveled over my face for a long, still beat before falling on my neck. “I can’t bear the thought of you leaving,” he said to the mark his teeth had left there. “I stop breathing every time I think about it.” He found another one, closer to my collarbone, and pressed his lips to it. “I want you in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.” His voice was muffled, vibrating against my flesh with deep, soft resonance. “Will I miss you?” He lifted his head and looked at me. “Like a dream that starves and curls up beneath my bones.”

JackRodel
Book:Mists of the Serengeti
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