“Oh, you want to take on a warrior of the arena?” I launch myself at him. We tumble onto the grass, laughing and wrestling. Whatever tension had hung between us drifts away into the breeze.
“The great Prince of Summer, afraid of ghost stories!” Farron teases, pinning me down before I twist and roll us over.
“I could take on a ghost!” I hold him down, our foreheads nearly touching. “I would face a ghost for you,” I add, the words hardly louder than a breath.
His laughter fades. “You would?”
“Anything.” My voice is barely a whisper, but in the stillness, it feels like a shout.
Before I can second-guess myself, I lean in, closing the distance between us. Our lips meet. The heat of the jungle pales compared to the fire igniting in my chest.
Farron’s hand slides up to cup my face, pulling me closer as he deepens the kiss. All the noise in my head fades. Why does this keep happening? Every time I’m with Farron, it’s like the haze in my mind clears. He burns away all the thoughts of what a disappointment I am, of how I can’t trust my own judgment. There’s only the blaze of his kiss and the swell of my heart.
I want more of him, more of this joy I get when I’m around him that drowns out everything else. My hand roams under his shirt.
“Day,” he breathes, cheeks flushed.
I wonder if my weight is too much for him, and shift. The movement drags my pelvis over his, and I hold back a growl. He’s hard. So fucking hard. Just like I am.
Can he feel me? Feel how fucking bad I want him? How hungry he makes me for every part of him?
Our kiss intensifies, becoming more desperate, and I think the answer to all my questions isyes.
His hands tangle in my hair, and I feel his heartbeat against my bare chest, matching the frantic pace of my own. I grind down on him, this need for closeness overwhelming.
His lips leave mine, trailing a path of fiery kisses along my jawline, down my neck. I gasp, fingers digging into his skin, urging him on.
With rough hands, I force his face back up, capturing his lips again. My tongue presses into his mouth, exploring, tasting. Lean muscles tense beneath my touch.
Finally, we break apart to catch our breath. Our cocks rub together, and I squeeze my eyes shut, so I don’t lose control against him.
“I think you should get off me,” Farron whispers.
I lean away, observing the same blaze in his eyes, the same overwhelming need. The realization that we’re both so close to exploding is intoxicating.
Rolling off him, I force myself to stare at the sky, to come back to myself, even though it’s the last thing I desire. I don’t want to belong to myself. I want to belong to him.
But like taking on ghosts and cursed water, I’m nowhere near brave enough to do that.
“You’re, uh, you’re really good at this stuff,” Farron mumbles, attempting to sound casual.
I chuckle and smirk at him. “Thanks. So are you.”
“Well, I guess I have read a lot about it.”
“Read about it?”
“Yeah, you know, in books and stuff. And those pamphlets the ladies hand out in the lower alleys of Coppershire. I mean, I don’t go down there, but I found them in my tutor’s briefcase once…” Farron suddenly seems very interested in a blade of grass.
Realization dawns on me, and I sit up, staring at him, agape. “Wait, Farron, have you never kissed anyone before?”
“I’ve kissed people!” he says. “I mean, a person. Okay, it was a wooden dummy but?—”
“So, you’re a virgin?”
His eyes go wide, and he opens his mouth to deny, but no words come out. His blush deepens to a sailor’s favorite shade of night sky. “Um, maybe?”
I give a half-choked laugh. “You’re ‘maybe’ a virgin? You can’t exactly be unsure about that!” I collapse back to the ground.
