Blackthorn’s head jerked back to me. “How do you know about her?”
I shifted in place, not wanting to get Fran in trouble. “I hear things. It’s the witch marrying the prince, isn’t it?”
He stepped toward me, the moonlight casting a beam of light across his face. His jaw tightened, eyes hard. “Yes.”
“And you love her?” I swallowed down my irritation at another woman taking his attention from me. My fingers curled into fists, and I quickly hid them in my skirts.
Blackthorn’s head tilted to the side, his gaze sweeping over my expression. “There’s only one who makes my heartbeat.”
I swallowed at the intensity of his gaze. Blackthorn took a step toward me, my foot stuttered back. I forced myself not to give up any more ground as he closed the distance between us.
My eyes followed his hand as it lifted. The barest touch of the tips of his fingers brushed my cheek, tipping up my chin. I dropped my gaze, hoping to hide the feelings storming inside of me.
“Mara.”
The sound of my name on his lips made my eyes lift. There was a quiet possessiveness in his voice, almost desperate. As if I might fade away before him and he was hoping to hold on to me through my name alone.
The pad of his thumb stroked my skin, brushing along my bottom lip. My mouth fell open, and my hands flexed at my sides, desperate to reach out and touch him. The thumb on my face trailed down my chin along my throat.
I swallowed pushing his hand with the movement, breathing stuttering.
“I have loved princesses and witches. Women who held power within the palm of their hands. They could kill a man with a single word, a flick of their wrists. And yet,” Blackthorn murmured, his breath mingling with mine as he leaned over me, “a small little woman, without title or power, holds more power over me than both of them combined.”
My tongue darted out to wet my lips. “I don’t want to have power over you.”
“Precisely.” Blackthorn’s lips twitched. “For you, I would greet the dawn without hesitation.”
“I would never—”
His hand buried in my hair, and he pulled my mouth to his, cutting off my words. Our tongues mingled together, my hands came up to grasp his shirt. Something inside of me fought between pulling him closer and pushing him away.
Blackthorn decided for me, bending to scoop his arm beneath me, lifting me up so we pressed chest to chest. My thighs parted to allow him closer access, my skirts pulling up as they wrapped around his waist.
Still, Blackthorn held me only by my hair and my backside, pressing me to him. I whimpered and clung to him, needing him closer, and yet all he did was kiss me.
“Blackthorn,” I breathed between kisses, “please.”
“You do beg so prettily,” he growled and then we were moving. My arms looped around his neck, holding onto him until my back pressed up against the wall. The hand on my backside moved up to my knee, lifting it higher up on his hip, his fingers burning my bare skin. “I want to hear you saying my name.”
My brows furrowed. “I said your name.”
He pulled back so he could look me in the eyes, his lips curled in a grin. Not a twitch, not a smirk but a genuine smile. “You think my given name is Blackthorn?”
My mouth opened and closed, unsure how to answer.
A boisterous laugh shook him, my hands and legs clinging to him. He laughed for longer than needed, making me scowl and push at his chest.
“If you’re going to laugh at me, then let me go.” I couldn’t hold back the pout in my tone.
Blackthorn, or whatever his name was, held me tight, his body pressing into mine so that I could feel every inch of him. The laughter in his face morphed into something feral, hungry.
“Never.”
I leaned my head against the wall, staring him down.
He pressed his forehead against mine, his lips a hair’s breadth away from mine. “Sebastian. Call me, Sebastian.”
“Sebastian,” I rolled his name around on my tongue.
