Too much.
She dug her fingers into his tight shoulders, mouth working against his. Her hands wanted to drift down his back, his chest. His face and hands. Along bare skin unknown to her.
Miya didn’t expect this to feel so good.
His kiss, his embrace, his body.
His love.
But the better his kiss felt, the more the rest hurt. Pain crowded around her and closed in on her.
Lance pulled back, lips lingering against hers, until he opened space between them.
He knew, didn't he? He knew she needed to stop.
But it had been worth it.
God, her knees were weak. She didn’t think that really happened to people.
“You’re a lot better at that than I thought you’d be,” she said.
“I told you.”
She saw him differently as he held her, the gold of his soft brown eyes setting his skin aglow. Miya never gave him enough credit for anything.
Lance pulled his hands from her, the wanting in his eyes brighter than ever. Fear dashed through her that he would ask for more from her. And why wouldn’t he? They’d just kissed the hell out of each other. Nothing about herself made sense to her, so she wouldn’t expect him to understand. Still, she quietly begged him not to make her say it. She needed this time alone, and until then, she’d never have a clue what she wanted.
But Lance gave that half-grin of his, a gloss over the love and hurt that hadn’t dimmed. “Good times, Miya. I’m going to nap on your creepy kid bed now.” Hand on his side, he walked away from her and eased himself down on the mattress.
“I love you too,” she breathed to herself, watching him lie there, his long legs stretched down to the very edge of the bed. Miya had no idea what to call this love, what it meant, but it was the kind only for him.
And it would always be only for him.
Robins hopped in the field, pecking at the ground. The wind chilled her. The birds knew something people may not otherwise know. Spring was here. Her mother had always brought her here to sneak flowers from the garden when they first bloomed.
“Don’t be greedy. One or two will do. Let the others live.”
A towering wall of bushes enclosed the private yard outside her room. Soon, they would come for her, and there’d be no turning back.
“You couldn’t look more like your mother.”
Miya turned at the voice, full gown swishing at her feet. Hakym stood at the bottom of the stairs. She released the banister and met him, clasping his arms as he kissed her cheek.
“I wish I could be more like her,” Miya said.
“You're much more like her than you know, my dear.”
“She was only a few years older than I am now when she died. How did she know how to do all this?”
Hakym extended his arm to her. Miya took it with her satin midnight blue gloves, dark against his white robe. They walked in the rows of red and yellow and purple. The late winter garden looked as beautiful as she remembered.
“I keep thinking it’s not too late to run,” Miya said.
“It’s certainly too late for that, child.” Hakym patted her hand. “It’s time. But if you want to try, we'll help.”
“You’ll be here? You and Lance?”
“We wouldn’t abandon you after all this, not when you need us the most. Now, you tell me when you feel ready. They said you can come at any time.”
