“I wholeheartedly agree.” He takes another sip before setting down his glass. “How hungry are you?”
“Not very. Are you suggesting we be done eating, my elven prince? Eager to move on to other things?”
His lips twitch into a smile, and he laughs. “Probably too eager for my own good.”
She angles toward him and gently plays with a lock of his dark hair. Then she slides her hand behind his neck and pulls him into a simmering kiss. When she runs her thumb along his ear, he groans and deepens the kiss.
He definitely tastes like smoke and berries now. The thought pools heat in her belly.
Especially when his hand finds her knee exposed by that scandalous slit he added to her gown.
He pulls away, breathing out slowly. “I’ll need water soon if you keep kissing me like that. And it’s not time for that yet.”
The “yet” just adds to her own heat. Hopefully, the heartlanding doesn’t pull them out of this night any time soon.
“Dance with me, Arisanna,” he whispers, his hand still on her leg. “The way this should have gone.”
“I would love to.”
As he stands and holds a hand toward her, the intensity in his eyes makes it hard to breathe, but she places her hand in his, and he helps her to her feet.
After leading her to the middle of the dance floor, he takes her perfectly in his arms as if he’s been doing this his whole life. For a lingering moment, she gazes into his gorgeous eyes. Then music fills the hall, and he steps into the dance without hesitating. His hand is gentle on her back, the pressure perfect as he signals his movements to her, and they get lost in this dance. He spins her right on cue, pulling her back into his arms with so much heat in his gaze that her mouth runs dry.
But he keeps going, dance after never-ending dance as they forget everything waiting for them back in the real world and just exist in this place where it’s only them, and she follows his every step.
She really would follow him anywhere, especially on a dance floor.
As the song winds down, he pulls her to his chest. His hands are so warm. All of him is warm where her body molds to his.
“Cerian,” she breathes.
And no more words are needed. They’re all contained within a glance full of desire and devotion.
“We need to cut the cake next,” he murmurs near her ear, and his words pull her out of the spell he holds over her.
“Cake?” She doesn’t want to cut cake. She just wants him. “We don’t need to cut the cake, do we?”
“I think we do.”
She barely resists a whimper.
“The heartlanding agrees. Look.”
She follows his gaze to the cart holding a re-creation of the cake they struggled to cut and eat at their wedding feast.
“That’s a lot of cake for the two of us,” she says.
“We won’t eat much. Just a few bites. Come on.” He grabs her hand and pulls her toward the cart, and she follows.
The sooner they finish this, the sooner they can move on to other things.
He offers the knife to her, and once she takes it, he covers her hand with his own. He must remember this part.
His chest is warm at her back as they use the knife together to cut a small slice out of the cake.
“Do you want a fork?” she asks softly when she turns to face him, but he shakes his head.
“The cake isn’t even real. It won’t harm me to touch it.” His tone is much less sure than his words are, but she refrains from pointing that out.
