Page 81 of This Is Not True Love’s Kiss

She was the only person who even knew about this hobby of mine. The only person I’d talked to about it recently. She’d done this for me. My heart started beating harder in my chest as I tried to work through what this meant, but I could only hope for one thing: that it meant she returned my feelings and this was her way of telling me. Her way of showing me.

Aoife’s voice echoed in my mind. Everyone needs a reprieve from their responsibilities. Everyone needs time for themselves. And you deserve that.

A wooden stool grew from the ground like a flower sprouting, and I sat down on it, staring at the blank canvas, wondering what I should draw. My gaze once again landed on Aoife, and I had my answer. I grabbed a paintbrush and started to paint.

CHAPTER 44

Aoife

After hours of training with Lor’s brothers and the royal guard, I was sore but more invigorated than ever. It had been so exhilarating to teach tachika kan to the mortals. Many of the Fair Folk guards had joined me in training everyone else in the ways of using our bodies as weapons. They’d all been eager to learn, excited, and I’d felt that excitement singing in my blood. Now I was bathed, wearing a flowy maroon dress that Ceri had made for me, my hair hanging to my waist in gentle, damp waves.

The high of the morning turned into a jangle of nerves as I approached the closed door on the ground floor of the castle. It had taken a few days to figure out exactly what I wanted to do to show Lor how my feelings had changed over the last month. I hoped he loved it. I hoped he understood the message that it was still hard for me to say out loud.

I reached for the door and opened it to see Lor sitting there in front of the easel, paint brush in hand, and my mouth dropped open at the sight.

Me. He’d painted me. My black hair framed my russet brown skin, my golden eyes glowed, and this ethereal yellow light surrounded me. I was beautiful, and it took my breath away.

Lor whirled on his stool, not looking surprised to see me. “What do you think?” he asked, gazing at me in that severe way of his that I’d once thought was so rigid, so unfeeling, but now I wasn’t so sure.

It felt like a mask to hide his deeper feelings, his anxiety.

“It’s perfect,” I said. “It’s everything, Lor.”

He stood and strode across the room, and suddenly there he was, right before me, sweeping me up in his arms and caressing my face. “Thank you,” he murmured. “For this. I didn’t even realize how much I missed painting, sketching.”

“I know,” I said simply, my heart still hammering, nerves, along with something else, fluttering in my stomach.

I still wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure why I couldn’t say the words to explain how I was feeling. Maybe because if I said them out loud, it would be official. It would chain me to him in a way that still seemed so scary.

But I didn’t have to ruminate on those thoughts too long because then Lor was kissing me, and I couldn’t think at all.

The kiss was gentle and slow, two people finally coming together after years of fighting each other. His lips were tentative, as if asking a question: is this okay? In response, I stepped into him, pressing his hard body against mine. He let out a growl and grabbed my hips, tugging me toward him so that our bodies were melding together.

I broke off the kiss, both of us breathing hard. “We still have so much to talk about, Lor. This can’t fix all our problems.”

Stubborn until the end. Oraya’s voice echoed in my mind. I wasn’t sure why I was still fighting this, regretted pushing him away again, regretted that his lips were no longer on mine. But Lor didn’t flinch or back away.

“You don’t think so?” he murmured against my lips. “Because I think it’s going to change everything.”

I wanted it to.

“We can’t agree on anything,” I said. “You think an act of passion will help?”

“I certainly don’t think it will hurt.” His voice was low and growly and perfect, sending a thrill through me.

I gave up the fight, my lips curving against his.

“I want you, Aoife. Not because I see you as an obligation or I see this as some duty I must attend to. But because I crave you. I crave your touch. Your kiss. Your body. If you don’t want this⁠—”

My lips crashed into his, less soft this time, urgent as I kissed him hard. He pried my mouth open with his, and I tugged him down to the floor with me.

I had so much pent-up desire, so many nights of touching myself, that I couldn’t hold back. Didn’t want to. I rolled us over, straddling him, and watching his eyes go black. I peeled my dress off, now naked from the waist up, only in my silk panties.

Lor sucked in a sharp breath, staring at me. “You’re divine,” he said. “Like a fucking dream, Aoife my warrior queen.”

I leaned down to kiss him again, and he growled, grabbing my waist and flipping me over so he could pin me to the ground and press kisses against my neck. The scruff of his jaw rasped against my skin, rough and igniting a fire in my belly.

Something wet and squishy pushed against my back, and I stiffened. “Lor?”