“And the only way you should ever be touched… is in a caress.”
I shiver at the contact and can almost hear the question behind it—Will you let me in?The night holds its breath with me.
I move first, closing the distance between us. Unable to bear it any longer, I press my lips to his.
The kiss is soft, unhurried, like a spark catching on rain-damp wood. His touch is warm, careful, reverent. When he pulls back, I almost chase him.
He laughs quietly, the sound roughened by disbelief. “You’ll be my undoing.”
He cradles my face as though it’s something sacred. A curl slips free, but he quickly tucks it back behind my ear, his eyes searching mine as if trying to memorize what he sees.
“I’ve lived lifetimes inside these walls,” he murmurs. “But this… this feels like the first one that’s actually real.”
My throat tightens. I want to tell him I feel it too, but all I can manage is a tremulous, “Then don’t waste it.”
His mouth crashes into mine, stealing the air from my lungs. The second kiss is deeper, more certain, the passion undeniable.
The world narrows to his warmth, his heartbeat, the scent of his roses pattered by rain. My arms wind around his neck. His hands caress my face with a tenderness that feels almost like prayer.
“Never,” he murmurs, planting kisses on my cheek, my brow, the tip of my nose. He huffs a laugh, and our gazes catch, two souls meeting.
I tug him closer by the collar, fingers threading into his hair. The world blurs, dizzy with mist and desire, and then he kisses me again.
“Stars, Fire…” he breathes against my mouth, “you don’t know what you do to me.”
“Maybe I do.” My voice trembles, but the words feel brave.
He laughs softly, shaking his head, resting his brow against mine. “We should stop now, before I forget every shred of chivalry and virtue I have left.”
I smile against his lips. “Maybe I want you to forget them.” My fingers toy with the collar of his tunic.
He stills. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
Yes, I do.
How dare he think I don’t know my own mind? I want this. I want him. He’s seen me in ways no one else ever has. I kiss him in answer, pressing closer.
“Fire…” He whispers my name like a plea.
“Please,” I breathe, not even sure what I’m asking for—only that I can’t bear the distance between us any longer.
He exhales, half pain, half wonder, then sweeps me up effortlessly and carries me to the stone bench beneath the roses, layered with cushions and shadow.
I’ve never been held like this before. Never been seen so completely. And in his eyes—burning with restraint and reverence—I feel the ache in my chest finally quiet, as though the part of me that never stopped running has at last found somewhere to rest.
He sits, still holding me. I deepen the kiss and shift in his arms, trying to turn so I can face him fully. My skirts catch on the edge of the bench, tangling around my legs, and I wobble—half rising, half sinking—searching for balance.
A quiet laugh rumbles out of him. Before I can right myself, he adjusts his grip, firm and careful, guiding me back down so I’m still seated on his lap, turned toward him but kept just shy of straddling. Deliberate. Controlled.
I swat his shoulder in mock offense. “Bastard,” I mutter between kisses.
“I’ll make you regret those words, darling.” His voice drops low, almost a growl—so deep it barely sounds like him.
“No,” I whisper, kissing him again. “No more regrets.”
My fingers trace the edge of his jaw, the roughness of the stubble he’s let grow over the past few days. I follow the line of his collar, loosening the top button. Then the next.
Before I can go any further, he stills—brows knitting together as though he’s in pain.
