Hearing him talk about seeing me for the first time—it renders me speechless. I take another sip of wine, trying to process what he said and how I feel about it.
“I didn’t reallyseeyou that night,” I tell him. “I thought you were just some asshole. And you are, but…”
He’s purposefully not looking at me, but by the tension of his broad frame, I can tell he’s listening with all his might.
“You’re notjustan asshole,” I say quietly.
“Oh my gods.” He presses a hand to his heart. “Thank you. I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
I shove my foot vindictively against his hip.
He grabs my ankle, chuckling. “Don’t make me laugh, Devilry. It hurts.”
But I don’t reply. I’m staring at my ankle, trapped in his big, bruised hand. He looks at me questioningly, and somehow he reads me, when I don’t even know what I’m thinking.
The energy between us changes as his grip turns tantalizingly gentle. He strokes upward, along my leg, to the arch of my knee, and then down my thigh with the backs of his fingers.
“Remember how much you wanted the ring you stole?” he says softly. “I want you like that, only worse.”
“Maybe it’s like stealing the ring,” I murmur, scooting a little nearer to him. “Once it’s done, the urge is gone. Satisfied.”
He glances away, chewing his lip for a second. “Might not be that way for me. If we fuck, I can’t promise you I won’t get more obsessed. Just being honest here, love.”
That should make me hesitate. But I want him. I think I might want him as badly as he wants me. “I suppose that’s a risk I’ll have to take.”
His gaze whips back to mine, a shocked hope in his eyes. “Then… we’re doing this?”
“Fuck yes.” I move as if to climb on top of him, but the pain in my breastbone makes me wince. “Gods, this is going to hurt.”
“You lie down.” He sits up and hastily arranges some of the linens for me to recline on. “I’ll be on top.”
I hesitate, remaining where I am. “Your shoulder,” I protest. “Your ribs—”
“Yourpussy,” he says, with that crinkling grin. “Believe me, I won’t care about the pain if I can be inside you.”
I draw a quick, shallow breath at the nakedness of his statement, the raw need in it. Why did I ever think he was nondescript, or only mildly attractive? Themeof the past was an oblivious fool, because right now, looking at him, I’m convinced I’ve never seen a more handsome man.
I lean toward him, my swollen lips alive with the need to touch his mouth, no matter how much it might sting. He meets me halfway, warm breath mingling with mine. I lick the sore place on my lower lip, and he exhales raggedly, watching the path of my tongue.
There’s a magnetic masochism in the way we hover, lips parted but not touching. Despite the chill of the air, I’m warm all over, cursed and burning as surely as if I’d stepped into a Fae-Hunter’s snare… and he’s the only cure.
I shift my face aside, skimming along his cheek, and I kiss the bruise on his cheekbone. He turns, snatching at my mouth with his, but I toy with him, not letting him close the gap just yet. There’s a feather-brush of soft skin, and my lips tingle with the need to taste him.
I lace my fingers at the back of his neck and stroke his throat with my thumb, right where I teased it with the edge of my knife. I love how long and dark his lashes are.
“We’re both fucking insane,” I whisper.
“You’re not wrong.” He gives a faint chuckle, a half-smile, and that’s when I kiss him. That’s when I can’t help it.
A flood of pain pulses through my sore lip, but I barely care. Though his lips are dry and salty, the inside of his mouth is wine-wet. He tastes like cherries and honeyed alcohol and savory spice.
My body reacts to the taste of him instantly, with a wicked flush all over my skin and a bloom of sweet warmth between my legs. I release a startled, pleased little sound at the surge of arousal.
A sliver of space opens between our mouths, and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue between my lips. I open wide for him, tilting my head so we can both go deeper into each other.
My tongue travels the points of his canines, especially the one that juts out farther than the others. I caress it, claiming it. It’s mine now. His smile is mine. I shape it with my tongue, memorizing the curvature of his teeth.
My eyes have been closed since the kiss began, but I want to see his face, and I should probably breathe, so I reluctantly separate my lips from his.
