“You wore my cloak,” I murmured as I fingered the edge of the fabric.
Her breath hitched. “It smells like you.”
My thumb ran along the neckline of the cloak, my eyes fixed on the goosebumps my touch elicited on her skin. “I was jealous tonight, you know,” I confessed.
“Of Nox?”
I tilted my head as my thumb landed on the pulse at her neck. “And Galen. He said he kissed you.”
She swallowed. “He did.”
“And?” I was drawing closer to her again, that string pullingme tight. My hand now cradled the base of her neck, but I wasn’t sure if it was to push her away or reel her in.
“And I wished it was you,” she breathed out.
I dropped my forehead to hers with a groan. “He said you weren’t…receptive,” I bit out. “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” she replied, and my muscles relaxed slightly. “It wasn’t like that. He stopped. I just…I was thinking about you. About the waterfall.”
Closing my eyes, I rolled my forehead back and forth across hers. The air tightened and pulsed between us. I clenched my jaw against the image of them together. “The idea of him kissing you, of himtouchingyou…” My hold involuntarily clenched at her neck, and she sucked in a breath.
“I don’t want him, Thorne.” She tilted her head up so the edge of her nose brushed mine. “I’ve never wanted him.”
“Then tell me why I still feel so guilty,” I rasped out. “Why I still feel like I want something that isn’t mine to take?”
“I can’t.” The way her throat constricted under my touch as her fingers grazed my ribcage made my hands tremble. “Because I feel the same.”
The heat coiling around my chest snapped. “If we’re going to feel guilty about something, it should be this.”
And I pressed my lips to hers.
Our kiss at the waterfall was urgent and blazing. Consuming, desperate need. But this…
This one stopped time.
This one froze me to my core.
This one shattered within me, obliterating every ounce of denial and self-control I had left.
I grabbed her waist and moved us back out of the hallway, cursing against her lips when I stumbled over the leg of a chair. A chuckle rumbled up her throat, and I devoured it, my heart pounding with each stroke of her tongue, each intake of breath.
Every second with her was a mistake.
But every moment with her gave me life.
Lifting her with ease, I set her on the small table toward the front of the house, ignoring the shake it gave at the pressure. She wound her arms around my neck and pulled me lower. I rested my hands on either side of her to balance myself, a groan leaving me when she caged me between her legs.
Fates, she was so beautiful. So strong and brave and powerful. I would never get my fill of her, of the way she made me feel like I was enough, like I wasworthy. Like I could live again.
She bit down on my bottom lip, and I curled my hand around the edge of the table.
Crack.
The center gave way as the supporting beam broke, and I wrapped an arm around her waist to lift her off before it fell. A breathless laugh escaped me. I opened my mouth to make some joke about breaking the table and waking up Marigold, but the look on her face stopped me in my tracks.
All the blood had drained from it, leaving her shell-shocked and pale. Her eyes widened—and that was when I remembered.
The sound. Like cracking bones.
