Chapter 22
A Moment of Peace
WANTS SHIFTED IN her faster than Jo could think, or even breathe.
She wanted him. She had him.
She wanted his lips. She had them.
She wanted his skin under her hands—well, that was still a work in progress.
From one moment to the next, she simultaneously wanted everything now and wanted to wait for it in blissful agony just as she had waited for this singular moment for what now felt like a millennium.
Her eyes slitted open, revealing a brief glimpse of his face. Long lashes covered the curve of his cheek, taking up most of her vision. In her periphery she could see his mouth moving to meet hers in a new and entirely delightful way.
His fingers buried themselves in her hair, pulling with need but tempered with a gentleness that she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted. Again, shifting wants. She was somewhere between “perfectly sated” with mere kisses and “rip off my panties.” Snow seemed to make the decision for her when he pulled away.
Snow’s usually red lips had deepened in color to bright cherry, his usually ghostly cheeks flushed with color. Jo was certain she looked much the same. For several long moments, they just breathed, and stared.
Without warning he practically dove for her. His hands on her hips, pulling them to him. Jo felt his entirelength from toe to chest and she swelled with a startled breath to close any remaining gaps.
Jo wasn’t exactly sure when they’d made it onto the bed, but she knew now that it was possibly the most comfortable thing in the known or unknown universe. A veritable eternity of hours slept on it had worn it in a way that was simply perfect—not lumpy or awkwardly dipping, but the sort of cloud you sunk into to find support below.
Then again, the bed could’ve been a piece of plywood, all splinters and rough edges, and Jo still would’ve found it comfortable due entirely to the man who stared down at her—hands on either side of her head, one knee between her thighs digging pleasantly into their apex with every shift.
She trailed her fingers over his face, trying to commit every curve to memory.
“You’re not going to kick me out now, are you?” Jo was glad her whisper still had strength to it, even if her knees didn’t. Good thing she was lying down.
“I think we’re past that.”
“Glad you can finally see sense.”
“As if that were ever a question?” He arched an eyebrow.
“You had me wondering.”
The words broke the spell they’d fallen under, but they did not erase its effects. Snow eased away, shifting onto his back at her side. They were still flush against each other and he did not object when she shifted to place one of his arms behind her head.
For several long moments, neither said anything further, the daze of the kiss seeping into them like oil to a wick that would burn for hours to come.
“I want you to know that since the Society’s founding I haven’t—”
“I know.” Jo cut him off. She didn’t need to hear him say that he didn’t usually take people to bed. He was very obviously not the type, so her question trended in the opposite direction. “Why now? Why me?”
She felt the pillow that was his arm shift as he turned his head, so Jo turned hers as well, studying his face.
“That’s a difficult question.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He chuckled. “Why you?” he repeated, more thoughtful. Jo hung on his words, her chest tightening oddly in suspense. “I’ve been alive. . . for more years than it’s possible to count—especially with shifting time and jumping realities. In all that time, I was waiting, searching. So when I found what it was I’d been waiting for, there was—is—no question.”
The idea was almost profound, and gave her pause. Was she the same? She’d never felt so instantly head-over-heels with anyone else. Even if she wouldn’t dare call it love so quickly (lust did not equal love), there was a connection there—how did Nico phrase it?A foundation, unlike one she’d ever known. He was an enigma that felt like everything she’d ever wanted.
“You flatter me.” She half shrugged and looked back at the mural on the ceiling to take off some of the pressure of being the sole focus. Stars dotted a canvas of swirling blues with ethereal god-like figures dancing among them. Jo tilted her head, slightly; it was almost as if she could remember a story that these very images depicted. Like a vague childhood tale. . .
Snow said nothing else, and Jo was inclined to leave it be. It didn’t matter why he wanted her. It just mattered that he did.
