“This should help.”
He drags the towel gently over my cheeks, my forehead, my nose, catching the smudges of blood and grime clinging to my skin. The warmth is heavenly, chasing away the cold like sunlight on frost. I let my eyes drift shut.
Six months ago, even when he said I’d never leave him, I did.
No promises, no penthouses, no Library of Congress additions could make me stay. Because I always knew I was his property, not his partner.
And that’s not love.
Maybe leaving proved my point.
My eyelids flutter open, and his gaze meets mine. He watches me as he works, his thumb grazing my jawline, his fingers brushing my temple like I’m fragile… precious.
It makes my stomach flip.
It makes my heart ache.
What would it feel like to trust him to hold the jagged pieces of me and not be afraid he’ll use them as weapons?
The thought is so sweet, so terrifying, that it tightens my throat and leaves me shaking. I press my lips together to keep the emotion from spilling over, but I’m unable to keep it in. I let out a shuddering breath and fresh tears spill over.
He lowers the towel and cups my face with both hands. His thumbs brush against my cheeks, catching the tears as they fall.
“You’re okay.” His whisper is rough around theedges. “You’ll be okay.”
The way he’s looking at me… It’s everything.
“Forgive me,” he murmurs, voice like velvet against my skin. “I’ve wanted to do this for far too long.”
My heart skips a breathless beat as his face tilts closer. His lips barely brush mine. A question, not a demand.
Gone is his crispness of apples and linen. I’m surrounded by woodsmoke and dark chocolate—a scent that makes me want to curl up and stay.
The kiss deepens, slow and teasing, like he’s savoring the taste of me, committing it to memory.
It’s not like him. It’s better.
I melt into it, into him, letting the heat burn away the fear, the doubt, the distance between who we were and who we might be.
When he pulls back, he’s breathless. So am I.
“You taste like sugar,” he murmurs, tongue flicking across his bottom lip. “Sweet…addictive. Like dessert.”
My pulse hammers. My skin is on fire.
His smirk returns, but it’s softer this time. More dangerous.
“And, Gemma?” He strokes my jaw, touch feather-light. “I spent years cursed, the flavors of life stolen from me.” He leans in, breath warm against my cheek. “I could no longer indulge in my favorites. No more chocolates, no more berries, no more honey. It all turned to ash on my tongue. You’re the first woman I’ve tasted since I’ve been free. My first dessert.” His lips brush my ear. “I’ve always had a weakness for dessert.”
It’s too much. It’s all too much.
His nearness, his words. What is he even saying? He was cursed… Curses aren’t real.
The room sways. My vision tilts.
So consuming. So dizzying. So…warm.
Who knew a kiss could do this?
