“Should I be?”
“Probably.” His mouth is so close now that I can feel the mask against my lips. “But you’re not.”
“Maybe I’m just stupid.”
A low sound escapes him, something between a laugh and a growl. “You’re not stupid.”
“Then what am I?”
“Curious,” he says. “Stubborn. Reckless.”
“That sounds like a compliment.”
“It is.”
I carefully push off his mask as he closes the distance and before I even get a good look at him, his mouth finds mine, not soft, not gentle, but not brutal either. Just... fucking sexy as hell.
His lips are warm, firm, moving against mine with a certainty that makes my pulse spike. His hand tightens in my hair, angling my head exactly where he wants it, and I let him. Because despite everything, despite the danger, despite the fear, despite the girl who wants to hurt me and the supposed friend who might die looking for me, all I can think about is how good this feels.
I kiss him back without thinking, my hands coming up to grip his shoulders, my body leaning into his. I want to feel good, even if only for a moment. To forget who I am. And where I am.
He makes a low sound in his throat, approval, maybe, and his other hand comes to my waist, pulling me closer until I’m practically in his lap.
The kiss deepens.
His tongue brushes against my lower lip, and I open for him without hesitation. The taste of him is salt and something sharper, something that makes my head spin.
His hand slides from my waist to my lower back,fingers splaying wide, holding me against him like he’s afraid I’ll pull away.
I don’t.
I can’t.
My knee protests the position, but I barely notice. All I can feel is him, his mouth on mine, his hands on my body, the solid heat of him surrounding me.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard.
His forehead rests against mine, his hand still tangled in my hair, his other hand still firm at my back.
“That,” he murmurs, “is what I meant.”
My voice comes out shaky. “About what?”
“About you being mine.”
Heat curls low in my stomach. “One kiss doesn’t make me yours.”
His mouth curves and I’m surprised by how handsome he is. Almost wholesome, if that’s possible for someone who lives in a place called the Rot. I want to tell him he’s hot, but I don’t. Not sure it would go over well.
“No, one kiss does not make you mine,” he agrees. “Because you already are, kiss or not.”
He releases me slowly, his hands lingering for just a moment before he pulls back completely.
I’m left sitting on the cot, heart pounding, lips still tingling, my whole body humming with something like appreciation for momentarily taking me away from the shitshow that is my life.
Sting stands, mask in hand, his gaze traveling over my face one more time, assessing, memorizing.
Christ, I could stare at him all day.
