“What are you thinking?” he asks softly.
She opens her mouth, but no words come.
“Arisanna?”
“Sorry. I...”
Why is this so hard? It’s Cerian. She can tell him anything.
He squeezes her hand. “It’s all right to change your mind. We don’t have to—”
“I want to. I’m just...not sure what to do. I mean, I know what to do. Of course I know what to do. Not that I’ve ever done it. But I know.”
Stars above. Did she really say all of that? Out loud?
She did decide to tell him everything.
Still. She could have skipped the rambling.
Taking another deep breath, she tries again. “My mother told me to...to follow your lead.”
“Is that what you want?”
She nods before squeezing her eyes shut. He still can’t see her. “Yes. I’m thinking too much about...everything, and I just need to—”
“Just be mine,” he whispers. “Nothing else matters.”
Her breath escapes in a shudder at his words.
Then his hand is in her hair as he slides it along her jaw. “Just be mine.”
“Yours.” Her terror at the darkness tempers at his touch.
A moment later, his lips graze hers. They’re warm but not hot, and her flesh tingles at his barely there kiss as the faintest hints of smoke and sparks tickle her senses.
A tentative hand reaches for her waist in the darkness, and he stills as his fingertips graze the sheer fabric of her gown.
His heart races alongside hers when he runs the material between his fingers. At least that’s what it feels like he’s doing. With every passing moment, the chiffon clings to her flesh more.
He says nothing as his warm hand slides along her waist over the thin gown, and soon, his lips find hers again. His hand presses into her lower back, drawing her closer as he kisses her, and she doesn’t resist.
His chest is warm but not blazing. It’s a comfortable heat that seeps through his leather shirt as she rests her hands against him.
Then the leather is gone, and she gasps.
“Forgive me,” he whispers. “The heartlanding...is very accommodating when it wants to be. I...I was thinking about...”
He doesn’t finish, and she trails a finger along the muscles of his chest. “That’s how I ended up in this gown,” she whispers. “Be careful what you wish for tonight.”
His breath hitches, though whether he’s affected by her words or her touch or both is impossible to say, and she doesn’t ask him.
Every sensation against her flesh feels magnified in the darkness, giving her something other than her fear on which to focus. The gentle mist. His smooth, muscled chest beneath her fingers. His breath against her lips and his hand on her back.
When he kisses her again, his lips are more eager. More demanding. And the heat deep within her grows.
Especially when he nudges her toward the bed she wished for. Stars above. They’re really doing this.
When her legs hit the raised platform, she loses her balance, and he catches her against him.
