Ethel M. Dell
‘He bent lower. “We’ve got to risk something,” he said, and with a swiftness of decision that she had not expected he took her chin and turned her face fully upwards to his own. The colour rushed in vivid scarlet to her temples. She met his eyes for one fleeting second then closed her own with a gasp and a blind effort to escape that was instantly quelled. For he kissed her–he kissed her–pressing his lips to hers closely and ever more closely, as a man consumed with thirst draining the cup to the last precious drop.
When he let her go, she was burning, quivering, tingling from head to foot as if an electric current were coursing through and through her. And the citadel had fallen. She made no further attempt to keep him out.’