The straps were thin; the bodice was overflowing. Her dress clung to her. It was more revealing than she had previously realized.
Isla looked to Grim. He was looking at her like she was the world, and he wanted to conquer it. For a second, she felt brave. Powerful, in a strange new way.
She stepped toward him.
Grim stood unnaturally still.
Her hand pressed against his chest. Her fingers were trembling. His skin was cold and hard as stone. Isla wasn’t sure if he was breathing. His eyes were hungry, devouring her, taking in every inch of skin. She bit her bottom lip.
He studied her mouth, and she didn’t want him to keep looking, she wanted him todosomething.
She stepped forward, until every part of her pressed against every part of him. Her fingers did not shake any longer as she traced the large scar in the center of his chest. His reminder of her. Her hand ran lower. Lower.
Lower.
“Hearteater,” he said, voice strained. The word was a warning.
She met his gaze. His eyes held all sorts of dark promises, and she wanted them all.
He was too tall. Too far away. She went on her toes to reach him, but she still could not.
She frowned and fell back onto her heels. He desired her, that much was clear. She felt like a flame, like she might just simply burn away if he didn’t extinguish this feeling building inside her, this insatiable want—
Grim had told her he wouldn’t touch her unless she begged. Back then, she had promised herself that wouldn’t happen.
Now, she was ready to go on her knees before him.
“Touch me,” she said, her voice just a whisper. “Please.”
Grim didn’t move an inch. He stood almost impossibly still.
Isla frowned. Did she have to say it again? She ran her hands lower, as if to show him exactly what she meant. Until she could almost feel all of him. “Please, Grim, would you justtouch—”
Before her sentence was over, his mouth was on hers. The kiss was punishing, exploring, unrelenting. He tilted her head back, hands cradling her neck, thumbs brushing across her throat.
She made a sound into his mouth, and he seemed to like it, because he growled and bit her bottom lip before swiping his tongue over the hurt. She was on fire; everything burned, some places more than others, and she needed those hands, that tongue, everywhere. Now.
He broke their kiss and looked down at her. She looked down too. Her nightdress was pulled so low, she was nearly spilling out of it. Her chest was heaving.
Grim looked at her body like he was committing it to memory. “You know, I really like this dress,” he murmured. He traced the neckline. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric and Isla gasped at the cold, then moaned as he traced every inch of her chest. “But it’s in my way.”
He gripped the silky fabric with both hands. He paused, looking at her as if for approval, and when she gave it, he ripped it right down the center. Stitches broke; fabric was torn.
He kept going, until her nightdress was nothing more than shreds of fabric on the floor.
And she stood naked in front of him.
No one had ever seen her this way. Isla was burning, ready.
But all he did was look at her. For far too long, he just stared.
Was something ... was something wrong with her? Was he not attracted to her? Had they gone too far already?
Isla began covering her body with her hands. She sat on the bed and crossed her legs, embarrassment heating her face.
“Is ... something wrong?” she finally asked.
Grim laughed. It made her want to crawl into a hole. But then he said, in a tone so earnest and gentle that she believed him, “Nothing, absolutely nothing, is wrong with you, Hearteater.”
