Finally, she steps back, and her foot collides with a bottle. She lifts it and inspects the label.
“Skyling wine,” I say, frowning. I tend to avoid it at all costs. “Disgusting.”
That, of course, is anything but a deterrent. She unscrews the bottle and sips it. Then, a burst of happiness.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
I sigh. Of course she loves it.
She takes another long sip, and I pluck it out of her hands. I’ve seen many people drink far more than they intended, because of its sugary taste. “You might want to wait a little while before drinking more,” I tell her. “Unless you don’t want to remember the night.”
I remind myself that it’s her choice. I offer the bottle back to her, but she shakes her head.
And, by the emotions blooming from her, I can tell she wants to remember this night as much as I do.
She turns to face me fully and tilts her head to the side. It’s adorable.
“Can I say something honest?”
I blink, startled. I’m not sure if I’m ready to hear whatever she’s about to say. I nod anyway.
“You are the most unpleasant person I’ve ever met.” Is that all?
“And you,” I respond, “are the bane of my existence.” It’s true. She’s a curse. She’s an addiction far sweeter and more dangerous than Skyling wine.
She takes a step toward me. “I was disappointed when I didn’t kill you.”
Her words are at odds with the desire I feel circling us.
I know what she wants. I run my hand up her leg, taking her tiny dress with me. There, strapped to her upper thigh, is a dagger. I tap at it, letting her know I’ve known it was here this entire time, and she gasps. “And I’m disappointed you haven’t tried again.”
As if any blade through my chest would ruin me more than she already has.
She might as well have stabbed me through the heart the first time she met me. I might as well have carved it out myself and handed it to her.
It’s hers.
It’s been hers—along with my mind, and my sanity, and my every waking thought—since the day she stepped inside my castle.
My hand curls around her waist. My lips brush against her neck, lingering at her pulse, which beats wildly beneath my mouth. Her back arches, and she makes a sound I’ve grown to adore, that I’ll never forget, as I begin licking the glitter off her neck, her collarbones, her shoulders.
“I don’t think it’s edible,” she says.
“I don’t care.”
Nothing could possibly be more poisonous than her, yet I’m here, practically begging to lick every inch of her.
Our lips crash together, and my hands are everywhere. I can’t touch enough of her, I can’t hold her close enough. My tongue parts her lips, and she groans into my mouth, the reverberations going straight to where I’m aching. I lift her into the air and rest her on the edge of the basket.
Her eyes fly open, and I feel her panic spike.
“Relax, Hearteater,” I say, though my own breathing is uneven, and not because of the height.
No, it’s the experience of seeing her there, perched on the side of the basket, wind threading through her hair, her wide green eyes fixed on me.
She can’t feel my feelings. She’s oblivious to the torrent of emotions winding through my head and body and verysoulas she slowly parts her legs in invitation. I step toward her, settling between them, and—
And I feel like I’m dying. I feel like I’m being reborn. I feel like I’ve been revived, or possibly, like I’ve never truly been alive until this moment.
