“Oh, no—I wouldn’t. I would tell you everything he did in great detail. Every touch, everylickthat burned me with pleasure—”
His breath came fast and his hand tightened over mine. I snatched it away and shoved his chest, though he didn’t back off.
“—everything I did to him.”
“Who,” he growled. Anger seeped from him like venom, slow and insidious, as he leaned close to intimidate me. “Name him.”
“You.”
He jerked as if slapped, his grimace melting into a frown.
“It was you, Sainte. I loved you. Always have. There’s never been anyone else. Every boy I kissed, that I lettouchme—I was looking for you.”
He clenched his jaw as his eyes danced between mine, searching for a hint of deceit.
“No one ever lived up to the feeling you gave me when I dreamt of you.”
He choked out a bitter laugh. My smile sweetened, my anger and hurt fading, giving way to something dangerous. He hadn’t pulled away. Still pinned, his hips pressed to mine, I resisted the urge to move against him, to give in to that need burning low in my belly.
“Your turn, Valahant.” My palm rested at the center of his chest, feeling his steady pulse beneath my touch. “Who has won your heart?”
He shuddered, then his guard snapped in place. Funny how when we talked aboutme,he was an open book of bright green jealousy, but when it came tohim—he shut me out.
“She did not win it.” He closed his eyes as if in pain—as if the words were being torn from his throat. “She didn’t have to.”
My heart raced.
Me.
Let it be me.
“What’s the lucky girl’s name?” I whispered, my touch trailing to his warm cheek.
His brows drew tight, and he groaned, turning to press his lips against my palm. He loosed a long sigh, then met my gaze, holding it as if it anchored him.
“Elspeth.”
My breath caught, frigid and burning all at once, as my heart pounded a chaotic beat against my ribs. I could barely breathe, barely think. “Me?”
“Only you.”
His hands slid to my hips, fingertips grazing my backside, searing me through my dress. His grip was a claim—I was his, and he was mine.
I wasn’t wrong.
He wanted me—loved me.
My fingers threaded through the short hair at the nape of his neck, pulling his face close. His grip tightened, eyes flicking to my lips.
This was nothing like the boys I kissed.
This was Sainte. Strong, steady, loyal. With him, I had nothing to lose. He knew me at my worst and my best. And yet—because I loved him, cared for him, this was beyond nerve-wracking. I couldn’t mess this up.
He halted a breath from my lips, tensing as his teeth ground tight. What he battled with, I didn’t know. In my experience, every other man would gladly take a woman thrown at them…
But Sainte wasn’t just any man.
“Kiss me.”
