Of how much I like you. Of messing it all up.
Aric is quiet for a moment. Then his hand finds mine in the darkness, solid and real. “I’m scared too.”
I look up, trying to see his face in the darkness. “You are?”
“Yeah.” His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand, which I now realize is trembling. “I’ve never felt like this before. About anyone. And it’s terrifying because I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t want to mess it up.”
“What if I’m the one who messes it up?” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “What if I’m too anxious, or too scared, or too—”
“Poppy.” He squeezes my hand. “You’re not going to mess anything up. And even if you did—even if we both did—we’d figure it out. Together.”
“But what if—”
“Hey.” His other hand comes up to cup my face, his palm warm against my cheek. “I’m here. Right now. And I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.”
My breath hitches, and I tighten my hand around his, willing away the image of him leaving me in that ballroom alone. “I don’t want you to go anywhere.”
“Then I won’t.” He shifts closer, and I can just barely make out his features now—the strong line of his jaw, the glint of his tusks in the thin moonlight. “Can I... ?” he asks, and I nod. And then he leans in and kisses me.
It’s soft at first, gentle, like he’s giving me time to pull away if I want to. He always does this when he touches me, is always tentative and delicate, like I’m going to run away at any moment. But I don’t want to pull away. I want to be brave instead. And I want him toknowthat I want him.
So I lean into him, my trembling hands finding his shoulders, his neck, threading into his hair where it hangs loose around his face.
He deepens the kiss, and something shifts between us. I feel it in the way my body reacts to him, like it knows what to do even if my brain doesn’t. His hand slides from my face to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, and I make a sound between a gasp and a moan.
Aric pulls back slightly, his breathing uneven, his breath rustling my hair where it’s stuck to my cheeks. “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” I whisper, already tugging his lips back toward mine. “Don’t stop.”
His mouth meets mine again, his hand on the back of my neck pressing my lips firmly into his. Then his lips find my jaw, then my neck. The heat of his mouth on my skin makes my stomach tight, and heat builds between my legs, the way it does when I read those romance books Alina gives me.
Reading those books, I’ve always felt a bit of sadness, like I might not ever get to experience what the main characters do, like maybe love and passion are reserved for people whoare bold, not afraid to chase after the things they want. But right now, I feel like I could be one of those characters, like maybe I can find that same passion I’ve spent so many nights reading about.
One of my hands reaches down, and I find Aric’s free hand resting on the bed beside us. Pulling back from the kiss, I slowly guide his hand to my thigh, where it’s still tucked under the blanket. In the low light, I can barely make out his hazel eyes, but I can feel his gaze on me, studying me, as his fingers curl tighter, squeezing my thigh, then drift up, to my hip, then along the dip in my waist, where my thin nightgown does little to separate my skin from his.
“Can I—” Aric starts to ask, but I nod before he can get the question out.
I want him to touch me, to show me what to do.
“Yes,” I whisper.
The hand around my waist tightens, and then Aric gently guides me to lie back on the bed. My pillow cradles my head as he shifts the blanket, then slides beneath it with me, his body heat immediately warming me as he lies down beside me.
“Have you ever done this before?” he asks, and even though I know—or assume—that he has, I don’t feel nervous about telling him no. I trust him to go slow, to guide me at a pace that’ll make me feel safe.
“Never.” My voice is small in the darkness, but not timid. I want this. I’m ready to explore with him.
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he says as his hand finds my arm and begins tracing along my bare skin.
“I know.” I reach up and find his face with my hand, then guide his mouth back to mine, softer this time.
Aric shifts to lean on one elbow, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. While he continues to kiss me, his other hand finds my waist again. But this time, he guides it along the curve of my body, up along my rib cage, then slowly over my breast. I gasp into his mouth at the gentle contact, and he pauses briefly to ask, “Is this too much?”
I shake my head, then arch my back just a bit, pressing my breast more firmly into his hand, seeking out his touch.
Against my thigh, where Aric’s body is touching mine, I feel a twitch, and then something presses against me with steady firmness—not demanding, but wanting. And though I’m new to this, evenIknow what that means. It’s equally scary and exciting.
I made Aric hard. Me.
