Clearly, this re-creation of their wedding was a well-conceived idea.
“Is this what should have happened?” he whispers against her lips.
“I don’t know, but I need it to happen now.”
He suppresses a smile as she reaches for the buttons on his jacket, sticky fingers and all.
It’s not real. Nothing but her is real.
She pushes his open jacket over his shoulders, and he shrugs out of it, letting it lie where it falls. Then she tugs at his shirt, and his grin grows.
There’s nothing tentative about his human princess tonight. He’ll need water soon at this rate. Already, his fire grows difficult to control.
She tosses his shirt aside before wrapping her arms around his neck and hanging off him as she claims his lips again.
His chest is sticky now.
Why is he thinking about frosting when she’s kissing him like this?
Focus on her. He needs to focus on her.
“My turn,” he murmurs as he grips her wrists and unwraps her from his neck. Her eyes are wide, and her chest heaves, and he steals a kiss before spinning her around.
Laces. Why did he ask the heartlanding for a gown with laces? He doesn’t want to deal with laces.
“Don’t move.” He wishes for a knife, which the heartlanding is happy to provide. Then he brushes her hair aside and, with one smooth motion, cuts through the laces running down the back of her gown.
She gasps. “Cerian!”
“It isn’t real. And I want it gone.”
The heartlanding seems loath to make that wish come true the easy way. Not that it matters. As soon as the laces are cut, a gentle tug leaves the gown puddling on the floor at her feet.
“Much better.” He presses his lips to the back of her neck before pulling her against his chest.
“Your hand is really warm,” she whispers. “I think we need to find some water.”
“What did you have in mind?”
When she drags him to the water closet, he isn’t surprised, and he doesn’t argue.
It’s her shoving him in the shower half-dressed that catches him off guard. She seems to enjoy getting him wet with his clothes on.
He doesn’t have time to ponder that thought before she kisses him again.
“Arisanna—”
“Idon’t want to talk,” she whimpers, and he barely refrains from laughing.
Apparently, all he needs to do to light her fire is put her in a scandalous wedding dress and dance with her for hours.
“I need to get this frosting off,” he says. “It’s driving me to insanity. And my shoes.”
He’s not particularly fond of having puddles around his toes.
She gasps. “I forgot about your shoes.”
“Just give me two minutes to be me, and then you’ll have my complete attention.”
