I kiss him. I kiss him.
“Simon . . . just kiss me for now.”
“All right. I am.” I kiss him.
“Just kiss me for the sake of kissing me.”
I kiss him. “Baz . . .”
“Mmm.”
“I want my sheets to smell like you.”
“I smell like you, Snow. I used your soap.”
Between kisses: “You smell like a cave.”
“That’s romantic.”
“You smell like a hidden waterfall.”
“Better . . .”
“I can’t get enough of you,” I kiss.
“Just kiss me. Please . . .”
I kiss him. I push my chest into his. I knot my fingers in his hair—
“No,” he whispers.
I pull my mouth away. “No?”
Baz rubs his nose into my cheek. His voice is barely there. “Be gentle with me . . . Even though you don’t have to.”
“I—” My hand goes slack in his hair. “Gentle?”
“Please, Snow.”
I let some air between us. “Don’t say ‘please,’ Baz.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t have to,” I say. “You don’t have to, I’ll give you whatever you want.” I stroke his Adam’s apple with my thumb. I slowly move my other hand back through his hair. “Was I hurting you?”
“No . . .”
“You want me to be gentle?”
He nods his head.
“All the time?”
“Now.”
I nod my head. I kiss him. Gentle. Gentle. For the sake of it. He smells so good. Like rushing water. Like something underground. (I found a hidden waterfall once. There was a key there. I took it.)
Baz holds the back of my neck. He presses his other hand between my wings and drags his fingertips down my spine. I kiss him. I kiss him. Like I’m lapping up water from a stream.Is this what people do?I’m gentle, I’m so gentle.
