“Maybe.”
“Sit on my face when you kill me. The last thing I want to taste, smell, and feel is your pretty cunt before I go.”
I swear, I hear her mutter,Geezus Christbefore I open the door to the bakery and buy her everything she wants.
Chapter 19
Meirna
The Klementinum is straight out of a Harry Potter book. Albert Einstein taught here, and Mozart played numerous times. It houses over twenty-seven thousand books, and the historic vibe of being built in 1556 has me fully engaged and wandering like I’ve lived here once before.
Bronte follows, but not too close to rush. He stops to look at things himself, showing interest in the history and intricate artwork of the place.
It keeps my mind off the inevitable—almost. It’s hard not to fall back into place with what’s going on around me because Bronte’s strong presence doesn’t let me.
I know he’s not purposely trying to nab my full attention, but as long as I keep him behind me, I do better with enjoying the view and not the sophisticated stand-in titled my husband, whom I never said yes to.
Especially since he paid God knows how much money to shut the place down for an hour just so I can navigate it on our own.
I’m not sure how he got rid of the tour guide, but I’m selfishly not going to ask questions on the logistics. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I’m not going to waste it on my moral compass and the tourists outside wanting in.
Stepping inside another room, I pause in awe of the beauty awaiting me past the threshold.
Walls of old books. Two stories full, overlooked by a hand-painted ceiling illuminated by lights. The smell of wood and must fills my nostrils as I step inside. A row of globes sits idly in the middle of the room, but it’s the intricate design and origin of this place that has me speechless and in utter awe.
My winter boots squeak across the tiled floors as I soak in every inch of the space. I feel guilty walking around with wet shoes, but I can’t help the conditions of winter, nor do I wish to.
It takes away the ambiance of Christmas, my dream of being in Prague, and the sheer reality that I’m finally here.
Hitting record on my cell phone, I’m definitely not going to let this be a distant memory, but a place I can go back to over and over again when New York feels too stuffy.
There are no words to describe how exquisite this place is. It’s textbook. It’s a masterpiece.
I feel Bronte step in behind me as I slowly catalogue the area. He’s quiet, allowing me the space I need until we get to the other side of the library along the windows.
His arm hooks around my middle, then gently yanking me to a stop and into his hard chest within the next second.
I freeze on instinct as I continue to record, and he reaches for my cell and presses the screen to where the camera view flips and is facing us now.
“I think it’s only fair that you should note I’m here with you, Daydream,” he says, looking into my phone at me, while he positions his head right over my shoulder. “And, with all due respect, I also believe we should make a memory here, too.”
My brows knit just as he turns his face and presses a soft kiss along the column of my neck.
Instantly, my lips part from the bold and dangerous move. Myeyes flutter and want to close at how instantly good it feels, but I can’t tear my gaze away from how close he is. How my body senselessly reacts when his tongue lashes out in this slow, methodical movement that makes me warmer everywhere.
I feel his fingers splay over my sweater, wishing for a moment I had left my coat on when we arrived, but with our super private tour, they asked for it, probably, so we didn’t walk out with old books and a few things to throw up on eBay.
My breathing hitches when his hand navigates lower, travelling underneath the waistband of my jeans, which is a tight fit because his hand is so damn big.
“I need to respect the same,” he mumbles against my skin, then brings his head up to wrap his lips around my earlobe. “But I really don’t want to. Fucking you against four hundred-year-old books sounds like prison time.”
I smile at that, even though this is highly inappropriate, but I can’t seem to gather the words to make him stop.
Or continue.
Or get a handle on where we are and who could walk in here.
“There it is,” he praises gently. “I knew you had that smile waiting for me again, Daydream.”
