She laughs softly and looks to the ground, the sound tinged with something that might be embarrassment. When she looks up, her eyes are wide in the dim light.
"I'm not a victim, Noah," she begins, but I shake my head gently.
"Just the truth, Rika. You deserve to be happy."
My hand lifts almost of its own accord. Before I can think better of it, I reach up and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. My fingertips skim the warm, soft skin of her cheek, and she doesn't pull away.
Instead, she leans into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed for just a moment. When she opens them again, they're dark and full of heat that matches the fire building in my chest.
Her gaze drops to my mouth and stays there.
My breath catches. Every nerve ending in my body lights up, hyperaware of how close she is, how her lips have parted slightly, how she's swaying toward me like gravity itself is pulling us together.
I lean in slowly, giving her every opportunity to step back, to stop this before it starts.
She doesn't move. Instead, she tilts her face up toward mine, an invitation I'm powerless to resist.
When our lips touch, it's like my entire body fills with billions of tiny electric shocks. Her lips are warm and sweet, and when they move against mine, something inside my chest cracks wide open.
Then Rika's hands come up to grip the front of my shirt, pulling me closer, and the kiss deepens.
I slide one hand into her hair, cradling the back of her head, and kiss her with all the pent-up longing I've been trying to suppress for weeks. She tastes like wine and chocolate, and when she makes a soft, needy sound against my mouth, my entire body ignites.
I'm instantly, achingly hard.
My free hand settles on her waist, fingers splaying over the fabric of her dress, and I can feel the heat of her skin through the thin material. She presses closer, her soft curves molding against me, and I groan low in my throat, my hand tightening in her hair.
God, I've never wanted anyone like this.
The thought flashes through my mind, bright and undeniable. Rika affects me like no other woman before her. Everything about her turns me on.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Rika's eyes are glazed, her lips swollen and red, with faint traces of her lipstick smudged around the edges. The look she gives me makes my knees weak and my cock jerk so hard in my pants that it hurts.
"Do you want to come inside?" she asks, her voice husky and inviting, her eyes hooded.
There's no mistaking the invitation. Everything in my body screams yes.
Every cell, every nerve, every desperate part of me wants to follow her through that door and find out what she looks like when I peel that dress off her body.
Then she loses her footing a bit and her wings flap. I get a flash of how many glasses of wine she drank, and I stifle a curse. She's not drunk, per se. But she's not entirely sober either.
I force myself to take a step back, my hands still resting lightly on her waist.
"Rika," I say gently, my voice rough, "you've had a bit too much to drink tonight."
She blinks, surprise flickering across her face.
"And as much as I want to, and fuck, you have no idea how much I want to." I pause, making sure I hold her gaze before continuing. "I'm not going to take advantage of you."
Her expression shifts, from surprise to something close to a pout. The sexiest, most inviting pout I've ever seen.
"You're serious."
"I want this. I want you." I nod, even though it's killing me. "But I want you to be sure. Completely sure. Not wine-tipsy and impulsive."
Rika smiles softly, and my heart takes it as permission to go completely feral.
"You're a good man, Noah Mercer." She reaches out and pats my chest with her small, dainty hand, still pouting. "Guess I'll take a rain check, then."
