“How do we what?” He laughs. “How do we be in love? Have a relationship? There’s more to both than kissing.”
“I know. But there are…other things.”
“Like what?”
My cheeks burn. “Like…making love.”
He presses me hard against him and heat pools deep in my core. “There’s more to making love than kissing too. Besides, I can kiss you, can’t I? I kissed your cheek and survived. If only your lips are poison to me, that still leaves ample landscape for me to worship.”
My toes curl at his words and the visions they conjure. “Dorian…”
“What?”
There’s one more thing to confess, and I know I should tell him. When I told him what Zara said about Nimue having no intention of letting my curse take my life, I didn’t elaborate. Didn’t tell him that she’ll tempt me to bargain for my survival, and the bargain she’s prepared to offer will make me one of her Sisters of the Black Eel. An assassin. A killer. Not someone who’s willing to do what it takes to survive or defend the ones she loves. Someone like Zara, happy to kill without mercy, delivering justice without stopping to consider her opponent’s perspective.
My lips part as I prepare to tell him…
Tell him that…
All thoughts melt away as I tip my head back and get lost in his gaze. No one has ever looked at me the way he looks at me now. Few have seen my darkest aspects and continued to love me. It’s a luxury I never thought I’d have. I thought I needed to sever my deadly magic to be loved, but here is a man who desires me as I am, lethal kiss and all.
Maybe it’s selfish to keep one last secret.
But if it means keeping him tonight…
“All right,” I whisper.
“All right, what?”
“Choose me. Now.”
His expression flickers between joy and confusion. “You want to do the Blessing Ceremony right now? At the church?”
I shake my head, then move my hands slowly over his chest. One hand slides up to his shoulder and behind his neck, careful to avoid his bandaged wound. I run my fingers over the close-cropped hair at his nape, relishing its velvety texture. My other hand moves lower, over his torso, his stomach. His breath hitches, and the muscles of his abdomen contract. I let my hand rest at his hip. “Here, Dorian. Choose me here and now.”
He seems to tremble with restraint, his grip tightening in my hair, behind my back. A pleasurable thrill runs through me. “I’m going to kiss your cheek now,” he says, voice thick with desire.
Mine sounds the same. “I’ll hold still.”
Inch by inch, he slowly lowers his head. I keep my eyes open, my muscles poised to turn away should he get too close. Fear and excitement war in my chest as his cheek presses against mine. I feel his breath caress the shell of my ear. He angles his head and lights the softest press of his lips to my cheek.
My lashes flutter closed for the briefest moment as I luxuriate in the feel of him. The kiss seems monumental. It’s the only one I’ve ever received out of love. The only one I’ve been fully present and open to accept. Warmth spreads throughout my chest.
He pulls away and repeats his slow movements on the other cheek. When he next pulls back, I think that might be the end of it. Maybe it’s enough, but now that I’ve felt his lips, I crave more of him. He must see the longing in my eyes, for he draws in again, his hands leaving my hair to trail down my neck. I tip my head back, sighing at the dance of his fingertips on my flesh. Then his lips land at my earlobe and trail a line of fire down the column of my neck. When he reaches the base, I feel the soft flick of his tongue. He draws it up my neck to my ear, and the sensation is so surprisingly pleasurable that a moan escapes my lips.
He stiffens, pulling me against him. The tension in my muscles begins to loosen. My fingers weave through his dark curls as he tugs aside the collar of my shirt to taste my collarbone. I purse my lips against their desperate burn, their hateful tingle, and will myself to ignore the feel of Nimue’s curse. Not so I can be careless but so I can pretend they hum with desire, not magic. It isn’t hard to pretend, for a deep yearning to taste him back, to meet his mouth, to explore his tongue, envelops me. I feel a spike of fear, but the pleasure I feel in this moment is far greater.
Dorian kisses his way back up my neck, my ear, my cheek. Then he pulls away slightly until our eyes meet. Our gazes lock as he begins to explore me with his hands. He runs them slowly down each arm, then up my back. He touches my neck, traces my collarbone with featherlight pressure. With one hand, he runs a finger down the row of buttons on the front of my shirt. His breaths turn hard and heavy as he moves his hand over my stomach, pausing over my ribs. I lean into his touch, a silent plea for him to continue. Finally, he moves his touch higher, higher, until my breast fills his palm. Again, he pauses, and I feel my chest rise and fall. The linen cloth between his hand and my skin is too much. I yearn to experience him against me.
The look in his eyes tells me he feels the same. Every feature speaks of his craving, mirroring my own. Keeping my eyes on his, I move a hand under his shirt, feeling his muscles tense as I run my fingers over his bare stomach, up his chest, and back down again. When I reach the waistband of his trousers, I tuck my thumb beneath it, caressing the warm, hidden flesh. His grip tightens on my breast and a soft moan escapes my lips. That seems to undo him. Unravel him.
His lips come back to my neck, but his kisses are no longer slow and gentle. They’re hard, urgent. I cry out with the restraint it takes not to kiss him back. He pulls me close and reaches beneath my thighs. In one move, he hoists me up until my legs are wrapped around his waist. I tangle my arms behind his neck, run my fingers over his scalp. He carries me away from the end of the bluff to where the grass is thicker, denser. There he lays me down. Our fingers grow frantic as we reach for each other’s shirt buttons. I have his shirt undone first and tug it off him. I’m given just a moment to revel in his beauty, taking in his bare skin beneath the moonlight, pale patterns of old scars, the marred flesh of his shoulder, pink scratches on his chest where Zara raked him with her claws. Then he comes back down to me, working my buttons, placing a kiss with every inch of skin he reveals. I run my hands over his shoulders, his arms, but I pause when my hand comes over the bandage over his throat.
Reason sobers me just enough to say, “Won’t I hurt you?”
He pulls back with a smirk. “No.”
“But you’re injured.”
