“Yes and no. The multiple different personalities make it hard for me to understand everyone, but we each contribute specific skill sets that I appreciate.”
Her smile widens even more and the beautiful sound falling from her lips tapers off.
“I appreciate you, Amick. More than I could ever truly express. You’re one of a kind, you know that?”
She isn’t mocking or teasing me.
Her comment is genuine, pure sincerity.
My face grows more serious as my heart throbs at the compliment. The pounding is so forceful I’m surprised it isn’t audible.
I lean myself up until my back is as straight as it can be, bringing us chest to chest. She tries to scramble off my lap, but I cup her cheeks with my hands, holding her in place. The heat of her skin grounds me.
“You, Thayla Godrun, are truly one of a kind. Not figuratively, not in a metaphorical sense. There isn’t another being in this realm like you. And you are mine.”
My soul tightens with something raw and uncontainable.
It’s not hunger in the reckless sense—it’s something deeper. Something that’s been simmering low and steady, but now, it’s almost unbearable.
She shifts a fraction, and the air between us becomes charged.
Every ounce of carefully crafted restraint in my body snaps.
I silence her gasp with my lips.
My eyes flare as hers drift shut.
I’ve thought about this moment more times than I can count. This isn’t at all how I saw it coming about.
I’ve read book after book on showing affection, intimacy, the art of seduction, and I had planned for our moment to be the most romantic she’d ever experienced.
Gods, this moment has ruled so many of my thoughts.
I’ve waited—yearned for this. Not just for the taste of her lips, but for the permission in her eyes that said she was really ready. That she trusts me enough to cross this threshold.
That she accepts her place not only with me, but us.
This isn’t just our first kiss.
This is my promise.
A claim.
A beginning I’ve been aching to reach.
“Amick.”
My name sounds like a prayer falling from her soft lips.
“I need your soul,Mysenta. Every thread tied to mine. Tell me it’s mine.”
She pulls back the slightest bit, and her hands grip my wrists like she’s afraid I’ll let go.
“You never have to ask again. It’s yours. I’m yours.”
My hands grip her shirt and in one easy tug, I have it over her head, then I flip our positions.
My blood both heats and freezes to a confusing degree as I stare at her bare chest and the skippy shorts blocking where I urgently want to be. Her absence of a bra and the erratic rise and fall of her chest have me swelling painfully in my pants.
