Either option would work so long as he never, ever stopped kissing her.

If I didn't stop kissing her, we wouldn't make it to the castle.

At that moment, she couldn't for the life of her come up with a reason to stop kissing him.

Whatever it was, she knew she didn't want him to stop kissing her.

If he'd stop kissing her, just for a minute she might be able to understand.

How I'd managed to stop kissing him and give in to the guilt was a mystery.

The woman moaned but did not stop kissing the first man.

I wanted him to stop kissing my hair and kiss me instead.

Then perhaps you should stop kissing me, the man's thought came.

I had to make him stop kissing my hands.