The word hums against my skin.
"A careful touch."
His lips move again, tracing the place where I rubbed the leaves.
"You wrapped yourself in thorns," he rasps softly. "Tried to sour the taste."
His mouth curves faintly where it rests against me.
"But you are sweetness through and through. Nothing you press against your skin will change that."
His mouth returns to my throat. The kiss he leaves is gentle, almost shy, but my body answers before I can stop it. Another shiver climbs my spine and loosens my knees, breaking in a rush of warmth.
I hold my eyes shut harder, begging for darkness to anchor me. His fingers tighten at my wrist. His other hand settles at my waist, steady and sure.
"Open your eyes," he prompts again.
I shake my head faintly. The obscurity is safer. It lets me drift inside the places his mouth has touched.
A quiet huff escapes him, something close to a laugh.
"Then don’t," he says at last. "I do not need you to see what I'm about to do to you."
Before I can draw another breath, the world shifts and in a heartbeat, his presence vanishes from in front of me and reappears at my back with a speed that steals sound itself. My spine meets his chest as he draws me flush against him, effortlessly. The knife slips from my fingers into the leaves.
And then we sink.
Moss and earth rise to meet us as he lowers us to the ground, soft and cold beneath me. I’m seated between his legs now, caged by the strength of his arms. His chest rises and falls against my spine, his breath skating down the curve of my ear like a secret.
My dress trembles too, under his touch. One hand cradles my waist while the other rises slowly, untying the front of my it, lace by lace. My breath stutters with every loosened loop.
I should stop this, I could. I don’t want to.
My breath comes faster now, chest rising under his hands as he reveals me inch by inch, so, so delicate. Fabric loosens. Slips. My chest is bared to the night, to the wind, to him.
Still, I don’t open my eyes.
His lips don’t kiss, not exactly—they trace, linger,hauntthe edge of my throat.
"You smell like ash and wild things," he murmurs against it. "Like you rose from the fire just to tempt me."
And then his hands arethere. At first just resting, warming. Then moving—brushing, exploring skin that has never been touched like this.
I gasp, and his fingers respond to the sound like it was permission. A subtle pinch, a gentle twist—and heat coils low in my stomach like he’s conjured it with nothing more than intention. My body arches in betrayal; his arms tighten around it in reply, a quiet command and comfort both.
My legs tense, then melt. My hands reach back for him, gripping his thighs, his coat—anything to hold onto. But there’s nothing solid in me anymore.
His mouth brushes the curve of my neck again, then lingers—pressing a kiss so light, so reverent, I could weep from the ache of it. Then again, just below my jaw. I whimper, desperate and needy and full of something I’ve never felt before, chasing the next touch before I can stop myself.
"Shh… I know, my love," he soothes, each word a caress against my skin. One hand kneads my breast, holding me steady while his lips trace my throat. "I know. Don’t worry… it’s coming."
I don’t even know whatitis. Only that I want it. Wanthim.
My breath halts as he gathers my skirts, the fabric whispering up my thighs, bunching around my waist. The night air licks at my bare skin, a violent contrast to the heat blooming in me. I gasp at the merciless exposure—part shame, part thrill— but his knees are already there, bracing mine open, and I press back against him without thinking.
He groans, almost like pain. His arm remains wrapped around me again while the other slides down, fingers brushing places I’ve never dared touch. His palm ghosts over the soft skin of my inner thighs, and all things fall away, held taut in that single point of contact.
Exposed.
